Highways and Hospital Beds
by iCarlyRox18
Summary: After the break-up, he knew he lost her. There really wasn't any other way to describe it. He lost her... He just never imagined losing her this way. T for language. Story subject to rating change.
1. I know I'll always know

**A/N: *PLEASE READ* This will be a continuation of iLove You, in the most tragic way you'll probably ever read. Just a warning: it will **_**not**_** be one of those cheery, lovey-dovey, fairy-tale ending type of fanfic of the continuation of iLove You. Just be warned. But there will be plenty of Seddie. I can guarantee you that.**

**So this is my longest fanfic yet. Oh, and don't worry about any hiatus or abandonment. I will **_**not**_** abandon this fanfic because I am extremely confident I will keep writing nonstop because this is probably my best idea for a fanfic **_**yet**_**.**

**Enjoy. It's gonna' get pretty depressing at times, so if you're a sensitive person and love Seddie more than you love yourself (like me), then I suggest you go grab a box of tissues.**

**Oh, and I don't do disclaimers because I believe they're the most pointless things you can do. I go by this saying: If you were the creator, producer, or director of the show, what the **_**hell**_** would you be doing trying to make a work of FICTION of it if you can make it happen in the real thing? So yeah. I don't do disclaimers. I don't own the damn show. If I did, I wouldn't be on this goddamn site.**

**The first chapter will be the last moments of iLove You which I've already written in another fic ("I know I'll always know"), so if you've already read that fic of mine (If you did, **_**thank you**_**), you can skip to the next chapter. If you haven't, please watch the ending of iLove You before reading this chapter. Trust me. It'll be worth it if you do. C'mon… I **_**did**_** say please…**

**Oh, and I **_**promise**_** this is going to be the longest author's note in the entire fanfic. I know how annoying long author's notes are, so if you would please just read this one so you can get the gist of it, I'd really appreciate it.**

**Well, I bet you want me to stop talking now so you can start reading, so yeah, I'll shut up… Enjoy.**

**Highways and Hospital Beds**

**Chapter 1: I know. I'll always know.**

"Freddie, I have to go," she said, her voice rumbling against his chest as she was wrapped up in his arms on their fire escape.

Their song, "Running Away" by AM, was playing softly on the stereo he brought out, its gentle rhythm soft against the dwindling August breeze.

_I keep running away_

_Even from the good things_

"No… please don't," he whispered in her ear, terrified that any loud noises would make her disappear from his arms, on the verge of tears. "Can't you stay for one more hour?"

"Freddie, I can't," she replied, her voice pleading. "You know it's hard enough as it is. And what's gonna' happen when the clock hits 1:00 AM? What then? You can't just keep extending the time," she murmured, her voice almost a whisper.

"Yes, I can," he pleaded, trembling slightly. "Stay here with me. Until… until… forever ends."

_Did I tell you it's not that bad?_

_Sitting over here dreaming_

She felt the first warm tear make its way down her face, rolling against the gentle flush of her cheek. She swiped at it quickly, remembering her sentiment about never being one of those overemotional, pathetic girly-girls who didn't know how to keep their emotions in check.

She sniffled, thinking about what to say.

"You're not being rational about this," she replied, sounding slightly stuffy. "I thought we agreed we'd give this some time. I mean… I love you, Freddie. I really do. It's just… I think we should jump into the whole best friends thing first before we do this whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing. I thought we agreed on it. You're not being reasonable."

"Who the hell needs ration when we already know we're in love?" he spoke angrily. "Why does _**ration**_ and, and… _**reason**_ matter when all I really need is you? I love you, too. Why can't that be enough?"

His arms tightened around her, as if he would never, ever let go. And truthfully, he didn't want to.

_Did I tell you I'm right on track?_

_This time, I mean it_

Her breath hitched. She'd always pegged Freddie for a sap, found it endlessly amusing now and then, but she knew deep down that he was like that because it was really how he felt about her. He loved her. Hell, he was the first to say it.

Just thinking about it started an endless stream of tears pouring down her face and down his. They didn't want to let it all go, but they had to. They agreed.

She finally decided to get up, getting on her feet and turning around to look at him. She looked a mess. Her mascara was running down her face in sporadic streaks, and the bags under her eyes showed the wear and tear her body experienced from the day's commotion.

It didn't matter. She was still beautiful.

_I keep running away_

_Even from the good things_

The song was beginning to dwindle down, and it finally ended, enveloping them in a melancholy silence.

He gazed at her, prepared for her to step through the windows of the fire escape and leave, holding onto whatever composure he had left. She looked down at her feet, realizing that her crying probably ruined all her makeup, not wanting him to see her like that. Weak. Vulnerable.

But what did she need protection from?

He got up, sweeping away a streak of curly blonde hair that fell on her face and swiping his thumbs at her tears, making the pads darken with her makeup. She whimpered, and before he knew it, she was leaning forward and wrapping her arms around him so tightly he almost couldn't breathe, sobbing onto his shoulder. He tried to manage a smile to make the situation less saddening, but the heavy lump in his throat wouldn't allow him to, and he felt his own rush of tears streaking down his face, leaving a stinging, burning path in its wake.

They finally released each other, and he led her slowly to the door of his apartment, wanting to take her hand in his and reached for it.

She pulled her hand quickly away and placed it on her neck before looking at him apologetically.

He looked at her and felt the tears begin to burn his eyelids again, a frown placed on his brow and on his lips. He swore he almost heard his heart crack against his chest. He didn't know what to say past the pain of the sudden pressure of his chest, knocking the breath out of him and preventing words from forming on his lips.

"I can't," she said, her voice cracking. "If you touch me, you're gonna' make me want to stay even more than I already do."

He nodded, still unable to produce words. It was words that had gotten them into this situation anyway, wasn't it? Carly's words, to be exact.

He walked over to the door and let Sam follow him, the urge to wrap her up in his arms still strong. His hands pulsed in response, and he clenched them, hoping they wouldn't shoot out and just hug her until she melted into him.

He placed his hand on the knob and paused as he realized what was going to happen in only a few seconds. But without another thought, he opened the door with a heavy breath.

This was it. It was time for her to leave.

She stepped out into the barren, dimly lit hallway. She turned around and looked at him with a face so sad he almost wanted to kill Carly for saying all those words and making them do this. He started to creak the door closed until she slapped her hand against it and took his face in her hands, pressing her lips against his so harshly he thought he felt a tooth chip. He let his hands fall naturally to her waist and create soft pressure. She finally pulled away, and a final tear left her eye and fell to the floor, the sound it made as it made contact with the floor just barely audible to their ears.

"I love you," he said, his voice trembling against his will, their foreheads touching. Just one simple touch there, and he could feel his forehead on fire.

"I know," she murmured, pulling away. "I'll always know."

With that, he pushed the door closed at its hinges, watching her through the increasingly small crack as he pushed it closed.

He just barely heard the three words escape her mouth before the door closed.

"I'll miss you."

He lost it.

He pressed his forehead against the door and cried loudly, not caring about "being a man" or "holding it together." Holding it together was the last thing he could do right now. He punched the door with his fist in frustration, not knowing what his emotions were doing. Angry. Sad. Frustrated. Confused.

He turned around and leaned his back on the door, sure that if he even tried to walk, he'd fall down with the trembling of his knees. He slid down against it, tears frantically making their way down his cheeks as he grabbed a fistful of his hair, needing something to hold onto.

She turned around and began to walk, but her body wasn't letting her. She tried again, and she realized she was frozen in place, her mind unable to send the signals to her legs to walk away from the guy she ever truly loved, and loved her back. So she leaned back against the door and let herself slide down slowly, loud sobs and whimpers escaping her body.

They could hear each other's desperate cries through the door, and, as if instinctively, they turned around on their knees and pressed a hand against the door. They gasped and pulled their hands away when they could literally feel the warmth of their hands through the door. They both smiled sadly and stared at their hands, wondering how it was possible that could happen.

A million questions suddenly pierced through his brain.

Did she know? Did she really know how much he loved her? Did he say it enough over the hour and a half they had? Could he ever say it enough? Did she know that, even though they were breaking up, he still loved her more than anyone in the universe?

As if she could read his thoughts through the thick wooden material of the door, she searched her pockets and produced a small piece of paper and pen she kept from brainstorming ideas for iCarly the other day. She popped the cap off and scrawled out the words with trembling hands and folded the paper up. She slid it through the slit beneath the door and without another word, got up and walked slowly away.

He could just barely see the small piece of paper at his knees through the blur of tears in his eyes. He picked it up, knowing it was obviously from Sam. His Sam.

No, not anymore, he thought sadly.

But the assurance that she would be his again someday brought a miniscule smile to his lips, the corners turning up ever so slightly.

Finally, he unfolded what was beneath the layers of paper thrown beneath his door, scrawled in Sam's signature penmanship.

"I know. I'll always know."


	2. Take Me Back to the Start

**Chapter 2: Take Me Back to the Start**

So he lost her. There really wasn't any other way to describe it. He lost her.

He pressed his back harder against the door and reread the small note pinched between his fingertips behind blurred eyesight over and over.

_I know. I'll always know._

The words seemed to echo in his head, as he could imagine the exact way Sam would say it. He knew she was gone by now, heard the slow, deliberate steps away from his apartment, his heart pounding endlessly. Beneath the growing tightness in his heaving chest, he could feel things he never felt before. A searing burn that made his vision go meek. An intensifying ache each time he thought about her. A dull, yet increasing rate every now and then that made him hear the blood pounding in his ears.

He thinks it might be a broken heart.

Somewhere deep down, he knows that they'll get back together again. But just knowing she wasn't his anymore, at this moment, made his chest ache and his eyes water earnestly.

He released a shaky breath and placed a hand on the cold surface of the floor, pushing himself up. The last of his tears had dried up on his cheeks, and he winced every time he could feel the strain of his flesh when he moved them. He was exhausted, could feel the way his shoulders slumped and his eyes refused to stay open. With another shaky breath, he walked slowly towards his bedroom, trying to clear his mind of what recently happened in there. It sent a painful ache streaking through his heart to know that she was in his arms, kissing him soundly in there, just about an hour ago. He tried to let his mind steer away from the reminder, but he found himself trying and failing.

She was all he _could_ think about.

He dragged his feet slowly across the floor, walking towards his drawers to find pajamas. He went for a simple gray penny tee with the emboldened maroon letters 'SPECIAL HAM' across the chest and dark blue bottoms. Even as he climbed into bed and got comfortable, he could hear the words they shared earlier that evening in the elevator echoing in his head.

_I love you._

_I love you, too._

So why can't that be enough?

When he had gone to bed, he had originally thought it would be easy for him to doze off, considering the tiresome events of the day, but the circumstances thought otherwise. After about an hour of tossing and turning in his bed, he gave up. It was nearing about one in the morning by now, and he cursed the clock he read it from, remembering when it was gleaming, in a painfully noticeable bright red, the time 12:00 AM. He reached over and pulled the cord from the outlet in anger, wishing he had a universal remote earlier that could stop time. Or maybe rewind time back to when they were laying in each other's arms in his bed. Or maybe even fast forward time to when they'd get back together. He pondered the idea for just a moment, before finally deciding to get up and finding something to do. If he couldn't fall asleep, he'd find something fun or productive to keep himself busy. He wandered into the living room, sitting down on the couch and reaching for the remote.

He was surprised his mother wasn't home yet. Sure, she worked late shifts at the hospital before, but she never worked _this_ late. He momentarily wondered where she was before pressing the on button on the remote control and leaning back into the cushioned couch.

He didn't realize tonight's breaking news would change his life forever.

**A/N: Okay, that's chapter one. It's very, **_**very **_**short, I know. But I wanted to have a little cliffhanger here. Builds the suspense. Makes people want to read more, you know? See? I'm such a clever bastard, aren't I? ;) **

**But don't worry! All of the upcoming chapters are much longer. So don't be disappointed. :)**

**So, while you wait for the next update, please click on that 'Follow Story' button… and that 'Favorite Story' button… and that 'Favorite Author' button… and that 'Follow Author' button… Oh, and that button right there that has the letters R, E, V, I, E, and W on it, mm'kay? ;)**

**V**


	3. Hopelessly Hoping

**Chapter 3: Hopelessly Hoping**

Just as he was about to change the channel, the dramatic opening music of the breaking news came on, a shiny, silver block of capital letters sweeping in and spelling out: BREAKING NEWS.

He laughed incredulously at the cliché way the reporter with graying hair leaned forward on one arm and spoke in a deep voice overdramatically into the camera, "This just in…"

But the pitiful grin on his face soon turned into a look of horror when he saw the screen fill up with images of a huge wreckage on the highway near Bushwell.

He watched in disbelief as the news helicopter swept across the, what seemed to be a one-thousand car pile-up, accident from above. He couldn't believe the many cars of different sizes and colors scattered all over the place, some piled on top of each other, some crushed against each other like some incredible force molded them together effortlessly like dough. His eyes swept over the multiple police cars and ambulances shining their bright lights and sounding their alarms driving around, probably transporting the "many injured civilians involved in the accident." He watched the limping victims and their freshly opened wounds gushing, threatening death at any moment. He couldn't bring himself to imagine the bodies inside the actual cars, the many deaths it probably caused. Who the hell caused this? He swore, if it were a drunk driver, he'd drive there immediately and beat the crap out of whoever he was.

But his breath hitched in his throat as the copter camera focused in on the car that "the police reports started the huge accident."

Sam's car.

He could recognize it anywhere. The red two-door Toyota Yaris with the signature Washington state license that read: ILUVHAM. Suddenly, he could only faintly hear the news reporter announcing more and more about the accident as his body went numb, becoming completely frozen in place as he stared blankly at the screen. His heart sank in his chest.

It was a dream. It had to be. He would close his eyes and wake up from a very, very awful, terrifying dream, just like in the movies. But there was one problem…

This was reality.

He just sat there. All of his senses obliterated. His vision went out of focus. His hearing diminished to the point that it drowned out any sort of noises streaming from the television, and his ears gradually filled with the rapidly increasing pace of his heartbeat. His throat went completely dry, and nothing refused to escape his mouth. His mind went completely blank as he stared vacantly at the screen.

And then he saw the gurney. The terrifying white gurney he'd only seen in the TV shows and the movies. The one the hospital workers were loading into the back of the ambulance.

"…police identify the woman as Samantha Puckett…Puckett…Puckett…"

His mind echoed the words, not wanting to believe they were coming from the reporter's mouth.

"…seems to be in an unstable condition…dition…dition"

His heart raced, booming loudly in his ears like the constant beating of a drum. _Ba-doom, ba-doom, ba-doom, ba-doom_.

"…still waiting for more input on her injuries…injuries…injuries…"

_Sam… Sam… SAVE SAM!_ his mind screamed at him.

At the thought of her name, his body reacted immediately, and he got up abruptly from the couch and ran towards the front door, grabbing his coat and keys quickly before slamming the door shut behind him. Once he got down to the parking lot, his eyes scanned the area frantically, trying to remember where the hell he parked his car.

One million thoughts streamed through his mind all at once. His heart raced relentlessly, and he momentarily worried if he was going to have a heart attack. He was sure that the rate his heart was beating could kill a normal person within minutes.

His eyes finally spotted his car to the right of the parking lot, legs immediately shooting out to run after it, using the button on his keys to unlock it frenziedly with multiple beeps and bright outbursts of light. He flung the car door open, nearly crashing it into the car next to it. He shoved the key into the ignition, put the car in drive, and slammed his foot down on the gas, heading straight for the hospital, where he _knew_ that white gurney was headed. Recent images flashed through his brain, and he finally emitted a desperate sob and gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned to white ice, trying to train his eyes on the road.

He could feel a remarkably heavy lump in his throat that was hard to ignore and a sudden pressure on his temples, feeling the first dull effects of a headache. His lungs were faltering, his breathing becoming ragged as he thought about the body on the gurney. It only made his heart race impossibly faster as he pressed his foot harder down against the gas, nearly breaking it in the process. As the engine revved loudly, he wondered why the hell the Seattle police weren't hot on his tail at this point. Then he realized they were all probably down at the massive pile-up his girlfriend was in. Sam.

His mind was paralyzed, thinking about what could very well be of her at that moment. _Dead_.

He couldn't process it. It wasn't a word he wanted to think about.

He finally found the Seattle hospital and turned a screeching left into the entrance, going straight to the front, coming to a screeching halt and turning the car off, pulling out the keys and opening the door. He stumbled out clumsily and quickly regained his balance before slamming the car door shut and running for the automatic doors.

Just as he expected, hospital workers, doctors, and nurses were running around frantically, holding clipboards of files and transporting several victims from the crash to different rooms. He was dully aware of the way everyone's mouths moved, but no noise seemed to come out of them, drowned out from the frantic beating of his heart that hadn't calmed down one bit, not allowing him to hear past its resounding boom. He tried scanning for a blonde girl on each of the gurneys that rushed by, but he couldn't, his eyes blurring from fearful tears and distorting his vision. He swiped at them frantically, hoping to clear up his blurring eyesight. As his eyes swept the lobby once more, he spotted the front desk and nearly tripped as he bolted for it, running into it unceremoniously and spluttering frenziedly at the woman typing unbelievably calmly on the computer in front of her.

"Samantha Puckett. Is she here yet?" he asked the woman firmly, frantically.

"I'm sorry, sir. You're going to have to wait with the rest of the people over there wh—" she began to say, but was rudely cut off.

"I CAN'T FUCKING 'WAIT' TO SEE MY GIRLFRIEND WHO'S PROBABLY DEAD RIGHT NOW AFTER BEING IN A HUGE FUCKING ACCIDENT ON THE HIGHWAY! SO IF YOU'D EXCUSE ME, I'D LIKE TO KNOW WHAT ROOM SHE'S FUCKING BEING HELD IN, GODDAMMIT!" he shrieked at her, the veins in his neck becoming pronounced as he breathed heavily, his teeth clenched tightly and eyes glazed with pure anger and fury.

Even _he_ was shocked at his conniption; he rarely _ever _swore. His outburst earned him a few curious gazes from the crowd in the waiting room, but he ignored them, managing to calm down a bit and speak in a little softer, calmer tone to the young woman, who had a terrified and bewildered look on his face. She gazed at him like he was a wild animal released from its cage, almost cowering at the sight of him. He took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," he huffed. "But seriously, my girlfriend was just in the accident you guys are currently dealing with right now." He gestured towards the frenzy going on around them. "And I don't know if she's even alive or dead right now, so if you can please…" His voice faltered, throat choking up again at the thought, the image of the treacherous white gurney flashing through his mind. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath, almost whimpering. "If you can please… just search her on your system to see if she's already registered and being treated, I'd really, _really_ appreciate it." Tears were again spilling from his eyes, and the pressure on his temples grew once more as he hoped to God she was still alive. "Her name is Samantha Puckett."

_Please. Oh, God, __**please**_.

He gazed at the woman with a trembling lip as his body shook uncontrollably, waiting for her fingers to type the name into the computer. She just sat there and remained staring up at him, still shell-shocked after being screamed at. Before he could start screaming at her again, she finally responded.

"Samantha Puckett is currently being held in room 308," she said, eyes wide, not moving her gaze away from his. "Of course I know what room she's in."

"What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean!" he screamed, then let out a short, abrupt sob.

"She… She's in room 308, sir," she confirmed, then went back to typing on her computer.

He stepped back from the desk with shaky legs and scrambled towards the elevators, spotting one that was nearly closing and throwing himself through the increasingly small crack, prying it open with his body. He didn't have time to wait for an elevator. He muttered a quick apology to the people in it before quickly reaching forward for the console and pressing '3.'

Once the elevator _painfully_ slowly reached the third floor, he bolted out of it, twisting his neck frantically, searching for a door with the numbers 308 on it. He finally spotted it and dashed to it, flinging his hand to the knob and breathing heavily. He took a deep breath and twisted it, as time slowed down. Everything around him moved in slow motion as he took a single step in, pulse beating rambunctiously in his ears, hopelessly hoping he would hear the steady beeping of a heart monitor in its place. He walked past the light blue curtain on the right and turned the corner, holding his breath as he stopped in his tracks, catching a glimpse of the figure laying lifelessly on the ominous white bed placed in the middle of the room.

_Lifelessly_… his mind whispered to him.

He closed his eyes and was about to collapse onto the floor, barely noticing the rush of doctors and nurses crowded around her, shouting out orders and frantically repairing whatever injuries she had.

"Sam…" he whimpered pathetically.

A nurse with short brown hair heard him and turned around, gaze immediately turning to panic when she noticed he wasn't wearing scrubs, wasn't a doctor.

"Uh, sir, you can't be in here," she warned him, walking towards him. "You have to leave this room. Now."

"No! That's my girlfriend right there!" he screamed back at her, pointing towards her body and causing the rest of them to turn towards him at the outburst.

"Hey! You can't be in here, sir! You need to leave!" one of the doctors shouted at him, motioning towards the door.

"Now you listen to me, buddy!" Freddie screamed, stalking towards him threateningly. "That's my girlfriend you're treating right now, and if you don't let me see her, I will punch you so hard you'll regret even saying that to me!"

He stopped suddenly, swallowing thickly as he realized he called her his girlfriend. Twice. It had been about two hours since they said their goodbyes, but he never imagined saying goodbye _this_ way.

He barely noticed the short brunette nurse calling for security until he heard heavy footsteps rapidly approaching him from behind. He felt a sudden adrenaline rush as he instinctively sidestepped and swung his fist into the first security guard's stomach, making him double over in pain and collapse to the ground unceremoniously. The second grabbed him around the neck aggressively, pulling him down in one swift motion and pinning him to the ground, grabbing his wrists and holding them painfully together.

"Sir, you need to calm down!" he screamed, pressing his baton into the back of Freddie's neck.

He could feel the smooth frigidity of the solid floor pressing roughly against his cheek as the security guard pressed the baton down harder into his neck, breathing heavily and gritting his teeth.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Get him the hell out of here!" the doctor who had shouted at him screamed at the security guard.

He was lifted up violently from the ground and given a quick shove by the security guard out the door. By then, he had calmed down considerably, though his heart refused to slow down, knowing that his Samantha was in that room at that very moment. He couldn't stand the idea of it. It was all a nightmare.

"Now you stay out of that room until they give you the okay, or you'll be having a meeting with my baton later. A rather _painful_ meeting. Got it, buddy?" the security guard said to him coldly, pointing at him with the blunt end of his black baton. He stuffed it back into his pocket before walking away, leaving Freddie standing there as he watched Tony's—he had caught a glimpse of his silver name tag—heavy footsteps away from him.

He couldn't believe he was there right now. He couldn't believe that just a couple of hours ago, they were both fine. Didn't _want_ to believe that this happened, of all things. It was overwhelming, and it was almost too much for the rapidly pulsing muscle beneath his chest to handle.

The reality of the situation finally weighed down on him, and he could feel himself giving up as he leaned against the wall, sliding down slowly as heavy sobs wracked his body, unable to control himself or his feelings. She had to be alive. She _had_ to be. She _needed _to be.

_And that means I'm in love with him? _

_Well, you hate __**me**__!_

_I never said I hate you…_

Memories. Voices. Reminders. It all started to come back to him. How he'd come to fall in love with the girl he once called an enemy. The series of events that led him to where their relationship was now.

_But you never know what might happen…_

A faint feeling of a familiar pair of lips on his own.

He almost laughed at the statement. No, you never do. He certainly didn't expect _this_ to happen.

…_A lot of people have been talking about whether Sam and I should, y'know, go out with each other. And it's like everyone's wondering if Sam is crazy for wanting to. But nobody asked me how I feel…_

…_Yeah, it's important how Sam feels, but how __**I **__feel is important, too…_

_Okay, Benson, we get it. You want to humiliate me in front of millions of people? Go ahead and just do it; I don't care. Get back at me for all the mean things I've said—_

He faintly remembers his heart bursting at the seams when his lips made contact with hers. Can faintly recall the way his lips seemed to fit perfectly against hers. Can just barely remember feeling like he belonged nowhere else.

So why did they break up tonight?

He began to question everything. If they had gone wrong somehow. If it was all just some fake relationship driven by crazy teenage hormones. Just a couple of teenagers wanting to experience that fairy-tale relationship everyone always dreamed of.

But if it _was_ just some fake relationship, why did he feel so _broken_ earlier that night?

_You mean that?_

_Mm-hmm. So I guess we're both insane._

No, they couldn't be wrong. It wasn't a fake relationship. There was no denying the way he gazed at her after that kiss, when he felt like it was exactly where he belonged. Where _she_ belonged: with him. There was no denying the way his heart swelled every time he thought about her. He couldn't deny the way stars seemed to explode beneath his eyelids every time he kissed her. Couldn't deny the way she stole his breath away when he saw how beautiful she really was.

He remembers laughing at every romance movie he saw, where, cliché of clichés, every time, there was a perfect couple who were madly in love with each other, totally inseparable. He remembers laughing at the thought that you could fall so in love with someone that you would feel happy and fulfilled for the rest of your life.

No, it wasn't a fake relationship, what he and Sam had… because he stopped laughing the day Samantha Puckett became his girlfriend.

_Okay… I wanna' know…_

_Whatchu wanna' knaw?_

_When you first started to like me…_

…_Well, afterwards, when you were laying there, moaning… blood pouring out your ear… _

_Yeah?_

_I don't know… You looked… kinda' cute…_

_Aww… Then it was worth the hearing loss…_

She was worth it. No matter how farcical he put it, she was worth it. Worth all of the pain and irritation she put him through over the years.

_C'mon, baby, you wrote a good paper…_

_I know, but you can't just go around—_

_Alright, listen. Sam, Freddie should be able to complain about people to you without worrying that you're gonna' put them in the hospital._

_And Freddie, even though it's a little extreme to violate a man with bees… you should at least appreciate the fact that Sam did it 'cause she cares about you._

_Yeah, you're right… I'm sorry. _

_Give Mama some sugah… _

_Okay._

He could feel the tears burning his cheeks now, its hot liquidity searing his flesh and leaving a red, stinging path in its wake. He wished he could hold her now; wished he could wrap her up in his arms and tell her how much he loved her and show her how worth it he thought her to be.

_I think that's fair…_

…_Dittio…_

_Let's go get you that ham._

_Aww, baby…_

Doubts still seemed to wrack his mind as he emitted sob after sob, ignoring the looks he was getting by the hospital workers and visitors passing by. Was this a sign? A sign that they weren't meant to be together? That they were trying to force some kind of connection they had into something more than it really was? Was fate trying to send him a signal that they didn't belong together? By taking her away from him in the most ultimate way?

He thought about what a sick bastard fate must be before the memories continued to burn through his brain.

_Sam loves you… _

_It's kinda'… true…_

It took him everything in his power not to blurt back "I love you, too" that night. He wanted to wait until they were alone. He wanted to say it to her ever since his lips made contact with hers at Troubled Waters. Because it was true.

And he couldn't believe that just a few hours ago, he had finally worked up the courage to say it to her, and that she had said it back. It was unbearable to know that he might possibly never be able to hear her say it back to him ever again. Christ, he didn't even know if she knew—_really_ knew—how much she meant to him, how hard he'd fallen for her.

Tears continued to fill his eyes, but he refused to stop them, knowing it was a useless effort; he knew they wouldn't stop until he had closure, until he had the knowledge that Sam would be okay.

It was incredibly difficult to know he couldn't be sure they would stop.

_I think you two are taking some connection you have and trying to force it into a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship. Stop trying to be boyfriend and girlfriend when you both know it's just weird and wrong._

The memories from earlier that day in the elevator began to assault him.

_So…_

_She wasn't talking about us._

He remembers the desperation in his voice when he told her that, almost pleading. He could feel the heavy anticipation wavering in the atmosphere once he stepped on that elevator, felt the sinking feeling in his stomach when she stopped it, could feel their intimate relationship coming to an end. Sure, he could deal with being just friends, but when's the last time someone was "just friends" with someone they were completely, desperately, and miserably in love with?

_After all the years of us just like, being at each other's throats… and you… kissing me, that night at school. It was pretty… intense._

_Hey, it put me in a mental hospital._

_So… the kiss was just… intense?_

He remembers chuckling lightly at the statement. No, it wasn't "just intense." It was so much more than that.

_And fun. _

He kept it short and sweet. If he had gone on and on about how much the kiss confused him and made him crazy days afterwards, he knew it would take them _hours_ until they'd get off the elevator.

_Yeah, I just don't know if you and me really click… __**that**__ way._

So in what way _did _they click? He remembers asking himself that question in his head after she'd said it. That was it. Their boyfriend-girlfriend relationship was about to end in just a few minutes. He could _feel _it.

_Yeah… But maybe one day… when you get a little more __**normal**__._

_Or, if you get a little more __**abnormal**__._

One day. That's what they said. He was determined to make that someday today. If she was alive, he couldn't risk losing her again. He'd tell her he wasn't going to let her go ever again.

Later on, when she'd started up the elevator once again and reached her floor, he couldn't stop himself. He hadn't said it to her yet, and he didn't want to let her go without letting her know it. She deserved to know the truth. Behind all those walls she hid behind, he knew there was no one out there she'd said it to. No one out there who loved her as much as he did. No guy who put up with her as long as he did. So, he let her know it, lest he leave it unacknowledged when it was the only thing his mind was screaming at him.

_I love you. _

He remembered being absolutely terrified, not knowing if she was going to call him a complete and utter sap, hit him, and leave him standing there, or say it back. Before he could cower in fear as she turned slowly to him, the gentleness that washed over her face showed him she wasn't going to hurt him at all.

_I love you, too._

He remembers being relieved when she said it back. Relieved that she felt the same way. But it made him choke up to think he was the only one she'd ever said those words to, the first person she'd ever truly loved. Sure, she'd said it to her mom, but that was a different kind of love. This… what he and his Sam had? It was entirely different. The kind of love that made him so happy he felt like he could explode. The kind of love you only ever saw in the movies. If he could describe it to you, he would, but he couldn't. Words weren't sufficient enough to describe the way he felt about her. It's a feeling you could only understand if you felt it. And holy chiz, _did_ he feel it.

And to think the same person was in that room, laying in that bed… He only hoped and prayed to God she was alive. If she wasn't… he wasn't sure what he'd do.

He told her once that she was everything to him. If he lost her, he'd lose _everything_.

**A/N: Okay, to be honest, I'm probably going to end up ending all of my chapters with a cliffhanger. I don't know; I feel like they're really good for suspense and people wanting to read more. I mean, if I ended every chapter without one, how would people be motivated and excited to read the next chapter? Got it? **

**So, in the future, if you ever feel like punching me after I've ended yet **_**another**_** chapter with a cliffhanger, just think of it as a motivator instead of something that annoys you. :P**

**Thanks for reading and sticking with me! If you feel like it, review! It's not like I'll find out where you live and kill you if you don't. Pshh. Not at all… Haha. Jk… Maybe. ;)**

**I'll try and crank out another chapter within the next four days. We'll see. Depends on how much homework my teachers decide to dump on me right after winter break. :P**

**And if you're new here? Welcome! Feel free to click that 'Follow Story' button and join me on this wonderful journey! ;)**


	4. When Your World Comes Crashing Down

**Chapter 4: When Your World Comes Crashing Down**

He sat there, fighting off the depleting effects of drowsiness and wondering when the hell they'd give him the okay. He'd just been watching all of the hospital workers and patients rushing past him, still frantically scampering around and treating victims of the crash with various degrees of injuries. He could feel the last bits of what energy he had left pulling him towards a much-needed sleep, but he kept resisting, wanting desperately to stay awake until he found out about Sam's condition.

Suddenly, an oddly familiar-looking brown-haired woman stopped in front of him, leaning down abruptly and studying his face. He lifted his head up slowly, meeting her blurred gaze. The commotion of the day had made him dizzy, causing his vision to blur every now and then. He still wasn't sure if it was all just a nightmare.

He wished.

"Freddie? Fredward? What are you doing here?" the woman asked him circumspectly.

"Uh… w-what?" he asked, still a little dazed. And confused. How the heck did this woman know his name?

"Freddiebear! How did you get here!" she asked, alarmed. His vision finally focused with a few hard blinks. Now he knew who she was. His mom. The memory of her announcing her departure to the hospital flitted through his mind for just a moment before replying.

"Oh… Hi, mom," he said weakly, wincing a bit as he adjusted his position against the wall. It was getting a bit uncomfortable; he could feel the muscles on his back straining painfully, as though they were atrophying. Back pain. At a time like this. Wonderful.

"Freddie, how'd you get here?" she asked again, looking at him, concern washing over her features.

"I… I drove here… Don't… Don't you know what happened?" he stammered, voice cracking, tears threatening to start spilling again.

"Of course I know what happened, Freddie," she said gently, her voice almost a whisper, crouching down in front of him.

She was wearing her white, beaten-up nurse shoes and child-like scrubs, the shirt bursting with various colors and depicting multiple pictures of animated animals with radiating smiles, while her pants stayed a plain light teal color.

"Would you stop staring at me like that and get off this floor! You're going to catch germs!" she scolded him, making her point by tugging on his arm.

"Mom, it's a hospital," he scoffed. "I mean, you even _work_ here."

"It doesn't matter that it's a hospital! Just get up!" she chastised him, irritation filling her voice.

He almost laughed at his mom's sterility; it made him feel at home, away from the absolute trepidation that surrounded most of the night.

"Now go sit over there and wait for me. We'll go straight home right after I'm done here. How did you get here, anyway?"

"I drove here," he supplied.

"Fredward! Don't you remember our rule?" she gasped.

"Yes, mom," he groaned, rolling his eyes and continuing in a monotone voice. "You must ask permission before putting the key in ignition."

She smiled in delight and pinched his cheek quickly before he swatted her away in annoyance.

"That's a good boy," she cooed, before getting up from her crouching position.

She pushed the door of 308 open and had a foot inside before Freddie stopped her.

"Wait!" he yelled, grabbing her ankle abruptly. "You're one of the nurses treating Sam?" he asked in shock.

"Well… Yes, but—"

"WHAT? And you didn't bother telling me?" he screamed, loud enough to earn a few glances from the people near them.

"Shh! Freddie! You're disturbing the other patients!" she hissed.

"NO! I don't care! Mom, you _have_ to tell me. Is she okay?" he asked in alarm, scrambling to his feet frantically and taking a step towards her.

She sighed. This was exactly what she wanted to avoid.

"Freddie, I think you just need to sit down and—"

"TO HELL WITH SITTING DOWN!" he bellowed, anger flaring in his eyes. "TELL ME! Is. Samantha. _Okay_?" he nearly growled, gritting his teeth in frustration and breathing heavily.

She gazed at him sympathetically, reaching a hand forward gently and placing a hand on his cheek softly, eyebrows scrunching in the center.

"Mom, _please_," he pleaded, his voice cracking, desperation clawing at his tone. "_Please_ tell me she's okay," he whimpered, sobbing now.

She pulled him into a tender hug before whispering gently, softly in his ear.

"I'm sorry, Freddie."

He felt a warm, foreign sensation rush through his body from his ears down to his toes, loud, heavy sobs wracking his body, tears falling down to the floor, as he felt his whole world crashing down along with them.

**A/N: No, Sam's not **_**dead**_**. If I made her die right now, this story would be absolutely pointless, and, to put it simply, it would **_**suck**_**. lol. So no, this story isn't over. It seems like it's the end, but it definitely isn't. We still have a **_**long**_** way to go. So stick with me! **


	5. When a Heart Breaks

**A/N: Very short chapter today. My apologies. I think the next one's going to be much longer. I'm pretty sure. But we'll see. :P I'll try and update tomorrow around 4 PM EST. **

**By the way, does Freddie seem a bit OOC so far? I dunno', I have this weird feeling that he's a little OOC. But then again… wouldn't someone naturally get out of character if they found out their best friend/girlfriend was in a huge car accident? Hmm… Let me know what you think. Read on!**

**Chapter 5: When a Heart Breaks**

_What does that __**mean**__?_

Freddie let his sobs wrack his body, only to be absorbed by his mom's shirt. He could feel the vibrations of her vocal chords against his face, probably her motherly reassurances, but he barely heard them, not focusing on anything but what she said. She said "I'm sorry." She _apologized_ to him.

_So… that's it, then? She's… __**dead**__?_

"Freddie… Freddiebear…" she coaxed, pushing at his shoulders. "It's okay…" she said gently, wiping away his tears with her thumbs. He was shaking violently, hiccups from crying so much wracking his body.

"Mom… I know…" he began, sounding stuffy as he tried to regain his bearings. "I know you never liked me and her dating, but… but… sh-she's _everything_ to me... Is she- Can I- Can I see her?"

"I know, Freddie. I know she means a lot to you… And I'm sorry… And yes, you can see her," she replied, squeezing his shoulder and bringing him inside.

Time slowed down again as he walked deliberate, slow steps beside his mom.

"She's not exactly… in a stable condition, right now, Freddie," she began to explain, hesitant about her words, trying to find the right ones to gently tell him something so hard to explain. His mind was echoing the words again, heart beating hard in his chest.

He finally saw the sleeping form laying on the bed, looking… broken… _shattered_. He was emphatically relieved to hear the beeping of the heart monitor that was standing next to her, the green line moving sporadically in time with her heartbeats.

_It's beeping… She's alive_, his mind spoke to him.

Before he could fall to his knees beside her and start whispering assurances in her ear, his mother told him the four words that would alter the course of his life forever.

"She's in a coma."


	6. How Can the Only Thing That's Killing

**A/N: I know it's a LONG chapter title. lol. It's from the song "She (For Liz)" by Parachute, and it's a FANTASTIC song. In fact, most of the chapters will be inspired by song lyrics and titles, so if you feel like they sound familiar, they probably do from a song you've heard. If you can name the songs they are from, virtual cookies for you! Actually, no, virtual **_**cupcakes**_**. Everyone says virtual cookies, so I'll use virtual cupcakes. Hehe. ;) **

**I've got a nice long chapter for you guys this time. I hope you enjoy it… Well, that's an awfully long author's note, so I shall stop talking now… Read on! **

**Chapter 6: How Can the Only Thing That's Killing Me Make Me Feel So Alive?**

He couldn't process it, _wasn't_ processing it.

_She's in a __**coma**__?_

He could feel the blood draining from his face, traveling to his ears, which were beginning to burn almost painfully at the idea.

"What?" he asked lamely, the muscles in his throat closing up.

"She's in a com—"

"I HEARD WHAT YOU SAID!" he screamed violently. "Sam… She's in a-? No, she-she can't!" he began to panic, unable to process the fact that she was in a coma. "She was fine three hours ago! No! She can't be in a coma!" he protested, sobs overtaking his body, shaking violently. He stalked over to Sam, placed his hands on her shoulders, and shook her. "Sam! Samantha, please! Wake up! It's me, baby! It's Freddie! Please wake up! Please… Please, sweetheart… You have to wake up… _Please_…"

His voice had gone hoarse as he laid his head down on Sam's arm, the thin, white sheet covering her up to her chest, but leaving her arms exposed on top of it. He couldn't deal with this anymore. It was far too much for his body—his heart—to take. So he sobbed into Sam's arm, letting go of all his inhibitions and letting the anxiety of the day come crashing down on him. He tensed up immediately when he felt two warm hands on his back and his mother's gentle voice in his ear.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" he shrieked, shoving her off of him roughly, the veins in his neck popping out, eyes blazing.

His mom was more than startled, and she pulled her hands away immediately. But she quickly recovered to her motherly instincts, gazing at Freddie concernedly, who had gone back to weeping into Sam's arm.

"Freddie? I know this is really hard for you to accept, but—"

"NO! Mom, please! Just… Just please give me a few minutes. I need time to… to process this," he said quietly, his body calming down a bit, though he could still feel himself trembling.

"But—"

"No buts! Ugh, God, mom, _please_! Please give me time with Sam," he pleaded.

She bit her lip in apprehension, still debating on letting him stay in the room or not.

"Oh, okay," she finally gave in. "But make sure you don't—"

"Mom," he said coldly, staring at her in irritation.

"Okay, okay," she surrendered, putting her hands up and walking back slowly out of the room.

He breathed a relieved sigh when he finally heard the click of the door. He turned back around, looking at Sam, his once frustrated expression turning soft, replaced with concern. His eyebrows scrunched in the center, examining her. He kneeled down next to her, studying everything around her. The white clip on her forefinger connected to the monitor, detecting her steady heartbeat. The IV attached to her arm. The bag filled with clear liquid hanging from the metal stand on the other side of the bed. His eyes traveled over the other machines around her, confused about the purpose of some of them. They flitted back to the steady breathing figure on the bed, studying her. The white bandage wrapped around her head. The cuts and bruises scattered all over her arms. It was then he noticed the big, nasty bruise on her cheek, almost green and blue in color. On the other cheek, he discovered a thin, long cut about the length of his forefinger. Instinct took over him, and he stood up abruptly, bringing a hand up to the bruise, sweeping his thumb across it ever so gently, like he was afraid to break her. He bit his lip anxiously, cursing himself when his eyes began to water again.

His breath hitched in his throat as he realized what she looked like. The girl that usually walked around, so confident, so strong, so tough, was laying in the bed in front of him, looking so_** vulnerable**_. _Fragile_. She was _never_ one to be known for vulnerability. He absolutely hated seeing her like this, found the idea of her having such delicate fragility deplorable, and he felt a tear make its way down his cheek, rolling down ever so slowly against its scarlet flush. He felt a heavy lump rise in his throat for the millionth time that night. He couldn't believe this was happening. He knew it was happening; he just didn't want to believe it. Didn't _want_ to believe that she was in… in a _coma_. It was only something he'd heard of in the movies and the TV shows.

He just couldn't believe it was becoming his reality.

His hand traveled down her arm, caressing the small wounds scattered on it lightly with his fingertips, wondering how much pain she was in. If she was feeling as much pain as he was. The tightness in his chest had him feeling light-headed, breath shortening every now and then, and as he brought his hand down to hers, taking it in his and making small circles on it with his thumb as she remained unresponsive, it only made it impossibly tighter. The rapidly beating muscle underneath only made it more difficult to breathe, and he let out a shaky breath, unless he wanted to become a patient in the hospital along with her. He was almost startled by the surprising warmth of her skin; he'd heard somewhere that coma patients were cold, had such frigid skin that could make you feel like heat was being taken from you. But not Sam. It reminded him of the searing burn he felt when they were pressed against each other as they cuddled, the soaring of his heart when he felt her skin on his. He again felt the unusual sensation of warmth travel from his ears all the way down to his toes, this time shooting right back up to his heart. He was taken aback when it felt like a punch to the chest, a sudden ache that made him gasp suddenly and double over at the unexpected pain. A hand flitted quickly to his chest, right above his heart, breathing heavily.

_What the hell was that?_

It was the second time it happened, and he briefly wondered if he should be concerned by it. But he decided not to worry about it too much, going back to studying Sam.

He let his eyes travel back up to her face, noticing the only thing left unscathed was her pouty lips, glistening in the faint light of the room despite everything that's happened to her. Perfect in the way that he knew they'd fit effortlessly against his in a kiss. So he leaned down, his breath ghosting against her flesh for only a second before he kissed her gently, clenching his eyes closed, trying to remember the feeling when she would kiss back slowly.

He pulled away reluctantly and let out a quivering sigh when he saw no response, unmoving. He hated to say she looked almost… _lifeless_.

He leaned down and held her gingerly against him, whimpering and whispering softly in her ear.

"I'm so sorry, baby," he gasped, hiccups from his tears making him choke up. "I'm so sorry."

He kept apologizing into her ear, over and over, until he turned around to the sound of the door opening again, about to yell at who he thought to be his mom until he saw it was someone different, someone in aquamarine hospital scrubs and a white coat.

"Uh… Who are you?" he asked, wiping at his damp eyes quickly, refusing to allow anyone to see him like that.

"I should be asking you the same question," the man quipped, not shifting his gaze away from the clipboard he was holding in his hands and making his way to the other side of the bed.

He studied the man for a second, noticing the wiry glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose and the light brown hair on his head.

"So… who are _you_?" the man asked after studying Sam and scribbling on the clipboard's papers, placing it back down to his side and gazing at Freddie expectantly. He adjusted his glasses promptly, probably to get a better look at him.

"I'm… I'm Freddie…" he trailed off. "Freddie Benson."

"Ah, I thought you looked familiar," he chuckled lightly.

Freddie was confused for a second before the doctor continued on.

"I've worked with your mother for quite awhile," he finally explained. "You kinda' look like her."

"Oh… Well, it's nice to meet you, uh, Mr…?"

"Call me Dr. Jacobson," he smiled, extending a hand forward.

He looked down at it hesitantly before outstretching a hand himself, taking it in his and giving him a firm shake. He gave a half-smile, the first time he felt one since his discovery of the accident. It was almost a foreign feeling to him now; he wasn't sure he'd be able to fully smile ever again, unless Sam miraculously woke up soon. He was shaken from his reverie when Dr. Jacobson spoke.

"So what's your relation to Ms. Puckett?"

"Uh… I'm her…" he trailed off, unsure of what to say. Should he say boyfriend? Best friend? Ex-lover? Ex-boyfriend? Did it matter that they broke up after something like _this_ happened to her?

After everything he felt earlier, everything he went through, all the worry that wracked his body, he finally thought better of it and chose what he deemed was the best term to describe his "relation" to her.

"I'm her boyfriend," he finally answered, taking note of how natural it felt to say it, and how _un_natural it felt to think "ex-boyfriend." He considered them as together again; once she woke up, he swore he'd immediately ask her to be his again, to go back to the relationship they so painstakingly built with each other. He was once again shaken from his reverie with Dr. Jacobson's voice.

"Okay, Mr. Benson," he began, "since you are Ms. Puckett's boyfriend, would you happen to know where her parents are?"

"Well, last time I talked to her about her mom, she said she was in Las Vegas and wouldn't be back for a couple of weeks," he replied.

"Hmm… What about her father?"

"Dunno'," he answered. "Last time someone asked her where her father was, she said, 'You tell me.'"

"And she hasn't talked to you about him at all?"

"Nope. She doesn't like talking about it," he responded, his throat choking up when he realized he was the only one there for her right now.

And she didn't even know it.

"Hmph. That's going to be a problem," Dr. Jacobson mumbled before perusing the papers on the clipboard once again. "So Freddie… I'm sure your mother has already told you of Ms. Puckett's current condition," he stated, scribbling something on the clipboard as he spoke.

"Yeah… yeah, she did," he replied, the memory of his anxiety and apprehension when she told him flitting to his mind for a moment.

"Alright, Freddie…" he began, setting down the clipboard on one of the machines near Sam. "Before we get started, I'd like for you to sit down. Please grab that chair over there and bring it over here so you can, well… sit."

He did as he was told, and he placed the chair right where he was standing before, making sure he was as close to Sam as possible while this was happening. Once he got himself comfortable and took Sam's hand in his, he looked up at Dr. Jacobson and gave a small nod, signaling he was ready.

"Okay, I'm going to explain the world of comas in the simplest way I can. It's a little bit of a complicated process, but it isn't _too _complicated…" he reassured. His voice suddenly went soft, "And I know this is really hard for you. It's _going _to be pretty hard for you. I've seen what the loved ones of coma patients go through before… But don't worry. All coma patients are part of the ICU, otherwise known as the—"

"Intensive Care Unit," Freddie answered, unmoving, just staring at the body laying on the bed in front of him, not daring to shift his gaze away from her.

"Uh, yes… How… How did you know that?" he asked, looking curious.

"Well, when you have a crazy, over-protective mom who works at the hospital _and_ lives with you, you're bound to pick up _at least_ some of the terms that hospital workers use," he told him, the corner of his lip turning up ever so slightly.

Mr. Jacobson smiled back warmly before continuing on, "Well, when a patient is in the Intensive Care Unit, they always have doctors, nurses, and other hospital staff checking up on them daily. In other words, they get extra care and are always under close supervision."

Freddie just nodded, allowing him to continue on.

"So… when you first think of the word 'coma,' you think it has to do with a deep sleep, right?" he asked Freddie. He nodded slightly, still drawing imaginary circles on Sam's hand.

"Hey… Freddie," Dr. Jacobson coaxed him, seeing that he was a bit distracted. "You need to pay attention to this. It's very important."

He nodded, but he didn't let go of her hand, just hesitantly shifted his gaze to him.

"Okay, so when you first think of the word 'coma,' you think it involves a very deep sleep. But no, comas actually have _nothing_ to do with sleeping. You _cannot _shake and wake up someone who is in a coma." The memory of him trying to shake Sam awake flickered in his mind for a second before going back to listening to Dr. Jacobson intently. "In fact, someone in a coma is completely unconscious, and will not respond to any activity, voices, or sounds going on around them."

Freddie shifted his gaze back to Sam again, wondering how hard it was going to be, knowing she wasn't hearing the things he would say. Knowing she wasn't going to respond. He felt the tears burning at the back of his eyelids again, but he fought them back as hard as he could, trying to stay strong for Sam's sake.

"However, it is important to know that _the patient is still alive_; they are not in an in-between state or anything like that. That's what some people believe. But it's all baloney. Don't listen to that stuff," Dr. Jacobson reassured him. "The patient is still alive, but…" he held a finger up, "the brain is functioning at its lowest stage of alertness. That doesn't mean there is a high risk for death, but it _is_ plausible."

Freddie winced at the thought, but he shooed it from his mind, sure that if he even tried to _think_ of a life without Sam, he'd die along with her.

"Moving on…" he continued. "Comas can be caused by several different things. They can be caused by a severe injury to the head that affects the brain, seizures, strokes, infections in the brain, brain damage caused by a lack of oxygen, and overdosing on a drug. In this case, it's a concussion, meaning there _is_ some brain damage to her brain. Before you start worrying, we think it isn't anything _too_ major, although she _is_ in a coma. She is due for an MRI scan in just a few hours," he flicked through the papers on his clipboard briefly before continuing, "so we'll see just how severe the damage is. If it isn't anything too major, she'll have a better chance of waking up sooner. If it is a little major, then she has less of a chance at waking up early. And if there is need for a surgical procedure on the brain, it will need to happen… with the consent of a parent or legal guardian, of course."

"But if her parents aren't here, then how—"

"But in Ms. Puckett's case, she doesn't have a parent or legal guardian here, so right now, if no other person over the age of eighteen is taking care of her, _you're_ going to be the one we'll need to ask permission," he continued over him, expecting the question in its entirety.

He bit his lip, worrying about it. It was overwhelming to know he would have Sam's life in his hands, would be responsible for her death if anything went wrong. If she _did_ need a brain surgery, _would_ he allow them to do it? He knew all of the risks involved, seen it in the movies and had some knowledge from his mom. With just one wrong move during the surgery, the patient could die. He bit his lip even harder at the thought, before looking back up at Dr. Jacobson as he continued on.

"Okay, so since the patient _is_ unconscious, they are fed nutrients, fluids, and any other medicines needed to sustain their survival, since, obviously, they are incapable of eating in their unconscious state. This can be given to them either by a feeding tube inserted down the throat directly to the stomach, or a small plastic tube inserted in a vein. We decided to use the much simpler way, as you can see on her arm right there," he said, gesturing towards Sam's arm with his pen. "So, that tube _cannot_ come off. It is probably the most vital part of a coma patient's survival. So when you visit her, you _must not_ tamper with the tube in any way, shape, or form. Or anything else for that matter. If you feel something is wrong with anything, please consult a nurse, doctor, or any of the hospital staff that is around. _Do not_ try and fix it yourself."

He nodded, almost unconsciously. All this information was overwhelming. He was going to ask to have time by himself after Dr. Jacobson was done explaining all of this to him.

Apparently, Dr. Jacobson caught the expression on his face, "Don't worry. I'm almost done. I just need to explain to you how long comas usually last and then I'll leave you alone to think about… all of this."

He nodded lightly in response, briefly appreciating Dr. Jacobson's attentiveness to his expressions.

"Alright, so, usually, comas do not last more than a few weeks. _However_," he expressed sternly, "a patient can stay in a coma for a _long_ time—even years—and will be able to do very little except… breathe." He paused for a second, letting that soak in, before moving on. "But it's also important to know that most people _do_ come out of comas, and with Sam's current condition, we're pretty confident she _will be_ one of those people. But there are a few things involved _after_ coming out of a coma," he warned.

"On TV, you usually see the person waking up, looking around for a few moments, and being able to think and talk normally right away. But, in real life, that is usually not the case. In fact, it usually _rarely_ ever happens. When coming out of a coma, a patient will often be confused and can only slowly respond to what's going on around them. It _will_ take time for the patient to start feeling better. Now, whether someone fully recovers after being in a coma depends on what caused it and how severe the injury to the brain is. As I told you, we'll have Sam's results once she gets her MRI scan, so we'll get back to you on that. Sometimes, patients who come out of a coma are just as they were before—they can remember what happened to them before the coma and can do everything they used to do. However, if the circumstances say otherwise, they may need therapy to relearn basic things like tying their shoes, eating with utensils, or even learning to walk all over again."

Freddie's eyes nearly went wide at the thought, of Sam being incapable of doing the stuff she used to be able to do. But before he could start panicking, Dr. Jacobson was quick to calm him down.

"But don't get too worked up over that," he said quickly. "As I said, we're confident Ms. Puckett's injuries aren't too severe. In fact, I believe Ms. Puckett is actually pretty lucky."

Freddie nearly punched Mr. Jacobson in the face for saying that, but he held back, waiting for an explanation before having the possibility of going to that "meeting" security guard Tony promised him if he caused more trouble.

"A lot of the patients here from the crash have gotten broken limbs and bones, but Ms. Puckett… she got out of the accident with only a few cuts and bruises on her arms and legs. I'm surprised she didn't get so much as a sprained ankle. Most car accidents involve severe injuries, and the one she was in was a pretty big accident, a _very_ big accident, actually... Look, I'm not saying she's lucky for getting into a coma, Freddie, but you have to understand… it could've been much worse."

He nearly scoffed at the idea.

_Much worse? If it had been much worse, I would've gotten a convulsion by now._

He just sat there, staring at the figure laying painfully motionlessly on the bed, holding on to that little tidbit of information… _It could've been much worse_, the words echoing in his mind.

He was just happy to know she was alive.

**A/N: Wow, **_**that**_** felt like health class. Whew! So much information! I hope you read all of that, because it's going to be important to know for future chapters. So if you get confused during a chapter in the future, don't ask me! Just be sorry that you didn't read everything like I told you to! :P**

**Keep an eye out for an update! As I said, there will **_**never**_** be a hiatus or abandonment for this fanfic, so make sure you've added this to your story alerts! ;)**

**Thanks for sticking with me, my current reviewers! I wish there was another word for "review," but there isn't, so please review! :)**


	7. And If You Don't Get Through This

**Chapter 7: And If You Don't Get Through This…**

Freddie walked into the hospital, heading straight for the elevators to the third floor. Once he got there, he saw his mom and Dr. Jacobson having an intense conversation, both of them having concerned looks on their faces. His eyebrows scrunched up, worrying about what they were saying while they were right in front of 308. Once he reached them, they both stopped abruptly, their eyebrows rising up in surprise when they saw it was him.

"Oh, hey… Freddiebear," Mrs. Benson said, looking alarmed.

He turned to Dr. Jacobson, confused.

"Uh… what's going on?" he asked.

"Freddie… I _really_ don't know how to tell you this lightly, if it's even possible, but, uh…" he placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Samantha… Sam… passed away last night."

Freddie gasped loudly as he shot up from his seat, waking up suddenly from a deep sleep, heart beating rapidly and sweat practically pouring down his face. He immediately checked to see Sam on the bed beside him and the heart monitor still beeping steadily, and he emitted a completely relieved breath, although he was still breathing heavily. His shoulders slumped down from their tension when realization came over him.

_Oh, thank God… It was just a dream._

He rubbed his hands over his face and groaned, trying to recall what happened last night, how he'd fallen asleep. He checked the analog clock on the wall opposite the bed near the TV, squinting his eyes to clear up his vision.

"10:34," he said quietly to himself.

He kept squinting and held his hand up to the sunlight streaming into the room, shining right into his eyes. He got up from his seat, wincing in pain at the dull ache of his muscles from last night's commotion. He walked to the blinds, adjusting them closed before going back to his place beside Sam, taking her hand in his and squeezing gently, kissing her again. He faintly remembered vowing he would kiss her every time he woke up or whenever he'd visit her last night. He sat back down on his chair, leaning back, resting his arms on the arms of the chair, and staring down at his lap, trying to recall how he'd fallen asleep.

After thinking about it for a good fifteen minutes, he finally recalled how he'd fallen asleep last night. After Dr. Jacobson's explanations, he remembers telling him that he needed some time to think about everything he'd told him, and Dr. Jacobson nodding, leaving the room. He remembers thinking about it, thinking about how the future would be, thinking about everything this coma would change, and ultimately thinking about how worried he was for Sam. After that, he remembers complete exhaustion overtaking him and struggling to keep his eyelids open. But it was a wasted effort; he'd eventually fallen asleep in his seat beside Sam. If he remembers correctly, he fell asleep around four-thirty in the morning by then. He momentarily wondered why his mom or Dr. Jacobson hadn't tried to wake him up while he was there, but before he could wonder about it further, the door opened with a small squeak, revealing Mrs. Benson, clad in new, brightly-colored scrubs, in the doorway.

"Hey, Fredward," she said sweetly, going over to him and hugging him tightly. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Eh… It was okay. Better than I thought I would," Freddie supplied, shifting his position in his seat a little bit.

"That's good," she said, letting him go and straightening back up, remembering the rhyme she made about it: you don't get respect if your back's not erect!

"How come you guys never woke me up?" Freddie asked, looking up at her, ripping her away from her thoughts.

"Who?"

"You and Dr. Jacobson."

"Oh… Well, it wouldn't have really mattered anyway," she said, shrugging a bit. "Visiting hours were already over when you got here."

"Oh… so when are visiting hours?" he asked, cocking his head to the side a little bit.

"It depends on the patient, but for patients in the ICU, they're thirteen hours a day," she responded. "From nine in the morning to ten at night."

"Well, that means I'm good, then," he said, motioning towards the clock.

"Yup…" she trailed off, unsure of what to say.

She felt awful when he mentioned the fact that she never liked the prospect of him and Sam dating, even more so that Sam got into a terrible accident, so she didn't know what to say to him, except just watch his movements, see what he does. He wasn't in a very stable condition yesterday, screaming and sobbing and just not acting like a Benson, and she didn't blame him; it just worried her to see her Freddiebear so worked up. Stress was never good for the body. That much she knew.

So she watched him, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees and latching onto Sam's hand like he wouldn't let go. He looked so worried, rocking back and forth with his feet ever so slightly, kissing her hand now and then, biting his lip with the most concerned look on his face. She noticed his lips were moving, though it seemed like no sound was coming out.

"She can hear you, you know," she suddenly blurted, wondering what the heck compelled her to say something so sudden.

"What?" he asked, turning towards her and looking at her quizzically.

"She can hear you," she said again, looking for a better reaction this time.

His eyebrows scrunched up, gaze shifting to the floor for a second before going back up to meet hers.

"But… Dr. Jacobson told me coma patients can't hear anything. He told me they wouldn't respond to any voices or any sort of activity going around them," he argued, even as he held on to the glimmer of hope that his mom was right.

_In fact, someone in a coma is completely unconscious, and will not respond to any activity, voices, or sounds going on around them_, he remembered Dr. Jacobson's exact words to him, echoing in his mind briefly before going back to listening to his mom.

"No… No, he's wrong… Well, not _completely_ wrong, but it's definitely possible. I went to medical school for a reason, Freddie," she reassured him. "It's possible that she can hear you, even if she won't respond." She gestured towards her, and he turned his head, looking at her, biting his lip again. "You can talk to her, read to her, or even play music... It _is_ only a possibility—that she can hear you—but hey, it's worth a chance, right?"

He didn't respond, just turned back towards Sam. He gazed at her, wanting to take the chance, just hoping she would be able to hear him.

After a few moments, he finally decided he would say a few things, and he turned back to his mom.

"Mom, can you, uh…" he jerked his head towards the door lightly, motioning for her to leave the room so he could talk to Sam.

She smiled at him softly before nodding twice in succession understandably, her voice just barely a whisper, "Okay."

She left the room with a small click of the door, and he turned back around when he was sure she wouldn't open it again.

"Uh… Hey, Sam… It's me… Freddie. I don't know if you, uh, can hear me right now, but… my mom just told me it's possible for coma patients to hear things around them. She said it was only a possibility, but… I'm hoping you can hear me," he said slowly, watching her intently, the steady rise and fall of her chest, the slow rhythm of the beeping heart monitor beside her. _Beep… beep… beep… beep… beep…_

"So I don't know if you can remember, but you got in a big car crash last night, and I saw it on the news, and I rushed over here as fast as I could. I… I… You have no idea what I went through last night," he laughed, though his voice cracked at the same time. "I… I thought I… lost you, and I couldn't—" he began to whimper, words unable to come out of his mouth anymore as his throat constricted. He looked at her, face unmoving, unresponsive. Just the same, expressionless face, looking oddly peaceful with the steady rise and fall of her chest, lips set in a straight line.

The same face that used to have a beaming smile on it every time she looked at him.

He gave up on words as he felt his lips tremble, closing his eyes tightly and laying his head down on her arm again, weeping softly into her warm, pale skin. He looked up at her again, now squeezing her hand so hard he was afraid he'd make her lose blood. He wiped at his tears with the hand that wasn't holding hers, trying to clear his vision. He sniffled, trying to regain his bearings and start up again, but every time he saw her expressionless face, the strange warm sensation would go streaking through his body again, making his heart ache fervently in his chest. It only made him cry louder into her arm, wondering how the hell he'd be able to get through this if it was only the second day.

After a few more moments, he mentally slapped himself several times, trying to get himself to regain his composure so he could talk to her. He didn't want her to remember just the sound of him crying when she woke up. _If_ she woke up…

He ran to the bathroom quickly and splashed water in his face, looking up at his reflection in the mirror. He looked a complete mess. His hair was sticking out every which way, his eyes had the heaviest, darkest-looking bags under them, and to top it off, they were red and sticky with dried tears and recent ones. He cupped more water in his hands and splashed it into his face, hoping to improve his appearance. He briefly wondered if he should take a shower since he hadn't taken one since yesterday morning, but he thought against it. The shower would have to wait. He wanted—_needed_—to talk to Sam _now_. It wasn't something he could hold off when there were one million things he wanted to say to her screaming at him in his mind. He just cupped one last handful of water in his hands and dumped it onto his head, smoothing down the hairs that were sticking out so he could at least look a little less ridiculous if Dr. Jacobson or a nurse happened to walk in while he was talking to Sam.

He took a deep but shaky breath as he leaned on two hands on the counter. He closed his eyes, momentarily thinking about what to say before stalking back into the main room and sitting back down in his chair, taking Sam's hand in his once again and interlacing their fingers confidently, though her fingers lay almost limp in between his. He noted the comfortable feel of their hands intertwined, the way her fingers seemed to fit snugly, perfectly in between his.

"Okay… I'm back. It's me again… Freddie. And… I was just thinking about how we broke up… last night. And I was just gonna' ask if you'd want to… get back together again…" he bit his lip, looking away to prevent his eyes from traveling to her face, which he _knew_ would be unmoving, unresponsive. "It was just… so hard when you left last night, Sam. I'm… I'm sure you remember. I still have that note you slipped under the door right before you left," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling it out, scanning his eyes over her signature Samantha Puckett penmanship again. "You said you'd always know… I just wish you'd know—_really_ know—now. I wish you'd wake up. I wish… this was just one of your good old pranks and wake up, tell me I was a gullible nub like you used to," he stared off into space, the corner of his mouth turning up ever so slightly, remembering every single prank she pulled on him before, missing the bright, beautiful smile she'd send in his direction when he would realize it was her who had pranked him.

"I wish I could kiss you right now, and feel you kiss me back. You have no idea… how much I… I really miss that feeling, Sam… And every time I kiss you when you're in this bed, it's like… I can't stand not feeling you kiss back like you always used to. It makes me happy... It makes me smile when I remember you probably would've punched me in the face if I ever tried to kiss you before… Before that night at the lock-in. And now, it's like I can't get enough. It's kinda' funny if you think about it…" he looked to the side, chuckling a bit, similar to the way he did when he was fifteen and on his fire escape, about to have his first kiss with her. "I wish I could hold you in my arms right now, and tell you I love you. I could tell you right now, but I'm not sure if you can even…" A heavy lump rose in his throat, tempting him to start crying again, but he shoved it back down forcefully, determined to finish his sentiment to her. "…hear me," he finally finished, swallowing thickly.

"You mean _so much_ to me, Sam. I know I haven't said it enough before, but you do. When I told you I loved you in that elevator, I wasn't lying, Sam. Not even a little bit… You are the first girl I have ever truly been in love with. The first girl I _will ever_ be in love with…" he paused, chuckling again, thinking back. "You know all those romance movies we ever saw together? When you'd scrunch up your nose when there was the most cliché couple in it, and then we'd change the channel immediately because we both thought it was cheesy?... Well, I'm sorry, Sam, because, whenever I'd laugh along with you when you'd say how completely cheesy it all was, the idea that you could be head over heels in love with someone and feel… happy for the rest of your life… Deep down inside, I _wasn't_ laughing with you… because I knew I was feeling the same thing with you," he gazed at her, a tear falling down onto his cheek, though he didn't stop. He kept going, not willing to stop until he felt he was finished.

"I can't deny the way I feel when I'm with you, Sam. And I don't understand why I even try to, why I even broke up with you… I can't deny the fact that, whenever you're with me, and I get the chance to kiss you, or hug you, or even so much as get to touch you, things that no one else can do, things you wouldn't _allow_ anyone else to do, my heart just starts beating faster with no explanation at all. It makes me feel like you're… _mine_. It's such an… an exhilarating feeling, Sam…" he trailed off, looking down at his feet momentarily. "God, I sound like the biggest sap alive, don't I?" he laughed, though the tears still continued to fall, sniffling every once in awhile so he could enunciate the words clearer for her. "You'd probably be calling me that right now. A sap. Then you'd punch me but then kiss me right afterwards… But all I want you to know, Sam… is that I'm so happy that, in the end, I fell in love with _you_. Even through all the things we've been through. Through all the fights, arguments, and conflicts we've had in the past, I fell in love with _you _in the end. I know this is going to be hard, but I'm starting to realize that some people out there… are worth it. And if you don't get through this…" his throat constricted again, nearly choking him in the process.

Over the past few hours, he'd shooed the idea from his mind, but it was quickly becoming a reality to him, and he finally admitted it to himself that it was a possibility… for her to die.

"And if you don't get through this…" he began again, sniffling desperately to remove the stuffy sound in his voice. "…I want you to know that you'll always be the first girl I've ever truly loved." His voice faltered at the last word, and he finally broke, pressing his forehead in the sheet covering her body, sobbing impossibly harder than he had in his entire life.

Why did it feel like he was saying goodbye?

He wished this hadn't happened to her. He wished he could go back and make everything better. He wished they hadn't broken up. He wished he had told her to stay. He wished that the goddamn crash had never happened. He wished for so many things.

He wished.

_- 3 Hours Later -_

Freddie yawned a bit, lifting his arms over his head and stretching. It had been a few hours since he'd spoken to Sam. When he was finally finished crying into her arm, he'd taken a shower, though he still slipped into the same clothes he had on last night, the blue and red plaid shirt, jeans, and black sneakers. He made a note to take another shower again and change into new clothes once he got home. If he didn't, he was sure his mom would flip out on him, scold him about germs and pathogens and diseases and so on.

Truthfully, he'd been thankful for his mom's presence while Sam was in a coma. When she was there, he would feel… at home. She made it feel like there was nothing wrong, even though there was something _very_ wrong. Sure, she was over-bearing, had a few problems with over-protectiveness, and bothered him far more than he would've agreed with, but she was helping him get through it. He couldn't deny that.

As he sat there, though, he wasn't thinking about that; it occurred to him that he was really the only one there for Sam right now. Her life was being held in his hands at this very moment, and it was overwhelming to think about it. To know that if she went, _he_ would be responsible for it... Suddenly, he felt like a complete idiot.

_Carly…_ his mind whispered to him.

"Oh, my God," he whispered in disbelief, eyes growing wide. Why had this not occurred to him?

Sam's best friend in the whole world, and she didn't even know this was happening. He slapped a palm to his face, letting out a frustrated groan.

"God, how could I be such an idiot!" he grunted, teeth gritting tightly.

He pulled out his PearPhone quickly, finding Carly in his contacts and dialing her.

"C'mon, Carly. Pick up… Pick up, Carly! C'mon!" he exasperated, getting more and more panicked as the dial-tone continued to ring. "C'mon… C'mon…"

"Hi, you've reached Carly Shay," he suddenly heard in Carly's cheery, high-pitched voice. "I'm not here at the moment, but please leave a message after the beep!"

"Ugh!" he yelled, pulling the phone away from his ear and pressing end.

_Spencer… I'll try Spencer._

He checked through his contacts again, looking for 'Spence' in his phone. When he found it, he pressed dial immediately, biting his lip anxiously and bouncing his leg up and down. The dial-tone just kept ringing. With every ring, he grew more and more anxious, gripping the phone so hard he was momentarily worried he'd snap it in half, but he felt relief wash over him when he heard a reply on the other end.

"Hellllloooo?" he suddenly heard.

"Spence!" he nearly screamed. "Hey! Can you get Carly on the—"

"HA! I knew you'd fall for that one!" he heard, suddenly getting confused. _What?_

"I'm not here, sucker! Now please leave a message after the bee-eep!" he heard in Spencer's sing-song voice.

"UGHHH," he grunted in frustration. Dammit. He should've known Spencer, the jokester that he was, would have that kind of voicemail.

He went back to calling Carly, praying she would pick up this time.

"C'mon, Carly! This is a time when she needs you most, and you choose _now_ to not pick up your ph—!"

He was cut off by the high-pitched squeal he heard on the other end. Carly's laughter.

"Ahh! Hahaha… Hey, Freddie!" she laughed, obviously joking around with someone. "Spencer, stop!" he suddenly heard. She giggled again before continuing. "Sorry, Freddie. Me and Spencer were just working on a sculpture he just started. He hasn't made one in awhile, and I have to say, this is probably his _messiest_ one yet. You _have_ to see it soon. It's so cool," she told him. "Anyway, where are you and Sam? You guys just left without saying goodbye last night, _and_ you and your mom aren't home. And I called Sam; she didn't pick up either. Where are you guys? I mean, I understand you're dating and all lovey-dovey now, but I want to spend _some_ time with my best friends!"

_God, she has __**no **__idea…_ he thought.

"Uhh… Yeah, about that… Carly, I honestly have no idea how to tell you this, but…" he bit his lip, really at a loss for words. How could he explain to her that her best friend was in a huge car crash that _she_ started and was currently in a coma? He could try and mention it in casual conversation, but how the hell would that work? He almost laughed as he pictured it: "Oh, and by the way, you're best friend's in a coma right now after being in a huge car accident on the highway. Bye!"

"What? Tell me what, Freddie? What happened?" she asked, her tone suddenly becoming panicked.

"We're… we're at the hospital right now, Carly, and she's—"

"WHAT? Oh, no… What did you do to her, Freddie! Why is she in the hospital! What?" she began to panic even more, and he almost laughed. She really did have _no idea_. "Wait… did she lick another swingset? Darn! I thought she got over doing that!"

"No, Carly… It's actually… a lot… _worse_ than her licking a swingset this time," he choked, biting his lip as looked over at the figure on the bed, motionless.

"Oh, my God… What do you mean?" she squeaked.

"I… uh…"

God, how was he supposed to explain this to her?

"Do you… Did you hear… about the… about the huge car crash on the highway near Bushwell?" he asked.

"Yeah, I heard about it; it was just on the news… What about it?" she asked. He didn't respond, just let realization come over her as complete silence came from the other end. "Oh… my God…" he heard her gasp, picturing the way her hand would come to her mouth. "Are you trying to tell me… Sam… was… was _in_ that car crash?"

He nearly nodded in response, fighting back tears again at the memory of yesterday's complete dread and worry, until he remembered he was on the phone.

"Yeah… Yeah, believe it or not, I am, Carly," he whimpered, the lump in his throat rising again.

Dammit. He thought he was done with all this crying by now. Why hadn't he run out of tears yet?

"Oh, my God…" she heard her squeak on the other end. "Where is she? Which hospital are you guys in? Tell me she's okay, Freddie!" she nearly yelled into the phone, panicking even more than she was before.

"I… I _can't_," he managed to choke out, shaking his head back and forth. "We're at… at the Seattle Hospital."

"Oh, my God… Spencer!" he suddenly heard her yell, away from the phone. He heard a bunch of yelling before she went back to the phone. "We're coming right away, Freddie. Just hold on. We'll get there as fast as we can."

"Wait, Carly," he stopped her. "There's something else you need to know."

"Oh, God, do I _want_ to know?"

"Probably not, but…" he bit his lip again, tears streaking down his face, cursing himself again for it.

He remembered when the four words were spoken to him, the way his heart stopped and it felt like his world was crashing down. The way his mind couldn't process it. The way he refused to believe it. Before he could wonder how Carly, Sam's absolute best friend, would react to it, he spoke the dreadful, heart-stopping words into the phone, to Carly.

"She's in a coma."

**A/N: Ooh, drama! Now Carly knows. Once we get to the next chapter, just pretend Carly explained to Spencer everything on the drive there. If I wrote that scene, it would just be a repeat of an explanation of the whole Sam-being-at-the-hospital thing, and that would just take up room for a good, juicy chapter. **

**Next chapter we'll see some **_**huge**_** drama between Carly and Freddie. Are you ready for some serious chiz in the next chapter?**

**So keep your eyes out for an update! Oh, and sorry to tell you this, but you **_**might**_** need to wait a little longer than usual for the next update. I'm pretty busy with schoolwork right now, so I'm not sure if I'll be able to write the next chapter that fast. :/ But keep your fingers crossed and pray my teachers decide **_**not**_** to be assholes this week and dump a shitload of work on me! …God, being in all honors classes sucks sometimes. -_-***

****BY THE WAY, if you wanted more of an effect by Freddie's speech, I made a playlist for you:**

**1. "Gone Away" – SafetySuit**

**2. "Be Here" – Parachute **

**3. "Kiss Me Slowly" – Parachute**

**4. "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" – John Mayer**

**5. "Fix You" – Coldplay**

**So if you'd like to go back and reread Freddie's speech while one of these songs is playing, feel free to. It made me cry… like a baby. So if you'd like to have the same happen to you, try it. If it doesn't work, then… maybe you're just a cold-hearted bastard. LOL. Jk. :P**

**What'd you think of this chapter, by the way? Did I reach my goal of making this one a slight tear-jerker? If you **_**did **_**cry, let me know! It's cool to know when my writing gets to people that much. But don't worry, there'll be more chapters in the future that are, in fact, even **_**more **_**of tear-jerkers. Worried? I think you should be. ;) Don't say I didn't warn you to have a tissue box nearby in the first chapter! Haha. :P**

**Thanks for sticking with me! Don't forget to review! :)**


	8. Exit Wounds

**A/N: Wow. I am so sincerely sorry for not updating for like five days, guys. I've been REALLY busy with schoolwork, so I haven't had all that much time to work on this. :/ Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Like I said, there's some drama between Carly and Freddie here, so be prepared. :P Read on!**

**Chapter 8: Exit Wounds**

Freddie sat back against the cushions of his chair, nibbling at his lip nervously and staring down at his thumbs, twiddling them in front of himself. What was he going to say to Carly when she got here? Would he be able to explain everything without breaking down again? Before he could think about it further, the door suddenly slammed open, revealing Carly in the doorway and out of breath, shock still evident in her eyes. He got up abruptly, standing awkwardly in front of Sam as she strode quickly into the room.

"Where is she?" Carly nearly screamed at him, striding towards him swiftly.

"Right here," he said weakly, stepping to the side so Carly could get a glimpse of her.

"Oh, my God… Sam!" Carly wailed, stepping forward quickly and kneeling at the side of the bed. "No!" She looked up at Freddie, tears already glazing over her eyes and an apprehensive, trembling frown placed on her mouth. He nearly started crying again himself; when Carly cried, you couldn't _help_ but feel bad. She was one of those girls that had a puppy dog face when she was about to cry, so sad, yet so sweet and so adorable.

"How long—? When did—? How did—?" she stammered.

She didn't know where to begin. Heck, she didn't know _how_ to begin; her throat kept constricting, preventing words from escaping her mouth and making her choke. She felt the tears scratching at the back of her eyelids, but it didn't take much for them to fall, unlike Freddie. Anyone knew Carly Shay was a sensitive girl. When she compared her sensitivity to Sam, she'd always thought it was a better trait to have, rather than the toughness Sam seemed to give off and the cowers in fear she'd always receive when she walked by people at school. Contrastively, when people saw Carly walk by, they gave a smile, a wave, a "hey" every now and then.

But she wished she had Sam's toughness now.

The first of her tears spilled from her eyes, sobs beginning to wrack her body as she stared at Sam laying in the bed, expressionless, like she was in some sort of deep sleep. She couldn't believe this. One day she was fine, acting like the same old Sam she always was, happy and assertive and being sweet to Freddie. And now she was in this bed on the third floor of Seattle Hospital, laying there motionless, cuts and bruises all over her body, a white bandage wrapped around her head. She felt helpless, unsure of what to do. This was her best friend. The one she told _everything _to for so many years. And now she was in a coma, refusing to be responsive. Just laying there, _motionless_… If she died, who the hell would she talk to? Carly knew Freddie had told her she was in a coma, but she refused to believe it. She wanted this to be a dream. An awful dream. A _nightmare_.

She looked back up at Freddie after examining Sam for a few moments, though it was hard to; the tears kept skewing her vision, blurring everything she tried to catch sight of. Her gaze seemed to ask, _What do we do? _He just looked at her sadly in response, shaking his head back and forth, as if he could read her mind. _I don't know_, he seemed to say. She leaned forward, needed something to hang onto. This was all so sudden. So unexpected. Out of nowhere. Freddie opened his arms in response, pulling her into a tight hug he knew was very much needed. He knew this was as hard for her as it was for him, if not harder. She limply wrapped her pale, wiry arms around him, fingers digging into his muscular back as she soaked through the fabric of Freddie's shirt at the shoulder. His arms were wrapped snugly around her, feeling the vibrations of her sobs course through her back, shaking from sheer terror and apprehension. Unknowing. Unsure of what would happen. Unsure of what to do. He cried along with her, knowing exactly what was going through her mind. He felt it, too. He remembered how he reacted when he found out, through the breaking news, no less. No one told him. He had to find out by himself. And hell, if that wasn't the worst thing he ever experienced. He knew what was going on in her head, just as what happened to him. The thousands of questions he seemed to have. The endless thoughts that reeled through his mind all at once, never having a certain answer to any of them. But then again, what could they be certain of? No one knew what the future would hold. No one knew what was going to happen.

No one knew if Sam would be okay. And that was beyond painful, unendurable even, for both of them to know.

_- 4 Hours Later - _

After Carly had calmed down considerably since she first arrived, though it took a few hours, they sat there in silence, Freddie still latching onto Sam's hand while Carly sat in a chair across from him, on the other side, staring at Sam interminably. When Carly had managed to stop crying, he explained to her everything about comas that Dr. Jacobson explained to him. During the middle of his explanations, however, Dr. Jacobson walked in and filled in the stuff he missed. He could tell by Carly's facial expressions that she was reacting the same way Freddie did when Dr. Jacobson explained everything about comas to him. She was overwhelmed, but she didn't do much to hide it in her face, unlike Freddie had done, or tried to do. Dr. Jacobson was far too observant of people to miss anything they did, so when he saw Carly's face, he immediately, without even a thought of hesitation, soothed her a bit with a few professional words, just as he had done with Freddie.

Freddie appreciated Dr. Jacobson. He'd come to recognize he was a very good doctor. Experienced. Capable in the field of medicine. He was thoroughly impressed with the way he could read people, find the little things in their facial expressions and body movements that indicated what they were feeling. He wondered if he had also minored in psychology. He recognized Dr. Jacobson was not only a doctor to his life right now; he was also another form of reassurance, just like his mother. His reassurance was different, though. A soothing but professional kind. It wasn't motherly or made him feel at home; it just let him know that, as long as Sam was in his hands, everything would be okay, or at least, everything would be _likely_ to end up okay.

Now it was already 5:22, and Freddie couldn't believe it. Time flew by so fast. He remembers every time he heard someone say, "Time flies by when you're having fun." But how? Fun was the last thing he was having as he sat there, circling the pad of his thumb on Sam's skin, bringing it up to his lips to brush them against it gently in a kiss every now and then.

Spencer had come in a good ten minutes after Carly arrived, apparently because the parking lot was full, and he had to search endlessly for a parking spot. When he saw Sam, he reacted similarly to Carly, not believing it happened and crying. But he didn't cry nearly as much as Carly did. She guessed it was just a guy thing, not crying too much.

"What's gonna' happen to her?" Carly asked suddenly, almost whimpered it, keeping her gaze on Sam, knees hugged snugly against her chest.

Freddie was slightly taken aback a bit by the sharp pierce of her voice through the taciturnity that settled in the air. Up until now, they hadn't said a word to each other, not daring to break the deafening silence in the room and just studying the figure on the bed in disbelief. He just looked over at her in response, raising an eyebrow, sticking his bottom lip out slightly and shaking his head back and forth, shrugging a bit.

_What do you want me to say? _he seemed to ask in his gaze as she looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. He remained staring at her and swept his tongue across his lips, studying her intently. After a few more moments of silence between them, both of them unsure of what to say, he sighed and got up, stuck his thumbs into his pockets, and walked to the big window, which provided a gorgeous view of Seattle, though it was only slightly high up. The sunset was finally starting to settle in, and it streaked the sky with a deep blue and a bright orange, with a narrow strip of white settling in between them, creating a contrast of color that could make anyone marvel at its incandescent artistry. He pulled his thumbs out of his pockets and rested his hands on the ledge in front of the huge window, leaning forward on them and just barely arching his back. He looked down at the white ledge on which he rested his hands, sighing again, thinking of a way to answer Carly's recent question. He shook his head back and forth gently before answering.

"I don't know, Carly," he finally concluded, keeping his gaze down on the ledge he was leaning on. "No one knows…"

She gazed at him, eyes watering a bit before replying shakily, "God, Freddie… I can't imagine how you must be feeling right now. I mean, Sam's my best friend, but she's your _girlfriend_. How could you handle—?"

"We broke up," he muttered in interruption, almost saying it to the slight reflection he could see of himself in the window.

"What?" she asked, his words incoherent from her vantage point away from him.

"We broke up, Carly," he said again, this time in a stern, sharp tone of voice, snapping his head up and to the right to look at her angrily. "We BROKE UP!" he yelled, suddenly letting go of the ledge and turning towards her.

"Wait… you guys _broke up_?" she asked, suddenly sitting up and getting concerned. "When! Or, more importantly, why?"

"YOU, Carly! YOU!" he exasperated, wondering how he'd gotten so angry so fast. "Remember when you were talking to Spencer and his old babysitter?"

"Yeah, but… Ohhh… You heard that?" she squeaked, looking up at him innocently.

"Yes, Carly! Yes, we _fucking _heard it! We were on the fucking stairs _right behind you_ for crying out loud!" he snapped, holding his arm out in demonstration, startling her a bit by his spitting anger. She knew Freddie never swore, and the fact he'd just dropped the f-bomb _twice_ while he was screaming at her made her feel more than a little scared, but she quickly recovered, continuing their conversation, though she could feel it was quickly turning into a dispute.

"But I wasn't talking about you guys!" she defended.

"I know that! But it sure as hell _sounded_ like it! You wanna' know what happened after we heard you? After Sam was convinced that the same thing was happening with us? 'Trying to force some sort of connection we have?'" he put up in air quotes, staring at her accusingly. "We went upstairs—_in an awkward silence_, mind you—and took the elevator in the studio. She stopped it and we had a talk and everything…" he said, his voice suddenly lowering almost to a whisper. "We agreed on breaking up, but… I don't know. Afterwards, it just… didn't feel right. So… So I… told her… I loved her."

"I'm sorry, Freddie. How was I supposed to know you guys were standing right at the stairs?" she defended herself again. But when his last few words finally registered, about him telling her he loved her, she needed to know: "So did she say it back?" she asked curiously, hoping that she did.

"Yes, and then I checked the time. It was only 10:30, so we agreed on breaking up at midnight instead, which we did..." he said, biting his bottom lip and looking away, the memory of last night's goodbyes flooding his brain. He had _never_ imagined in his entire life saying goodbye to her like this. "It was so _hard_, Carly. I couldn't… I can't even describe it… And if _you_ didn't go blabbing your mouth, we wouldn't have broken up in the first place! And _she_ wouldn't be in this goddamn hospital right now!"

"Whoa, wait, you're blaming Sam's coma on _me_?"

"Yes, Carly! I am! If you just kept your mouth shut about Spencer and that babysitter, who _knows_ what Sam and I could be doing right now? Because of you, we broke up! Because of you, she had to leave last night! Because of you, she's in a coma, and now she doesn't know how I feel about her!"

"But I thought you said 'I love you' to her?" she queried, confused for a second before Freddie explained.

"Those are just _words_, Carly! They're not enough!" he shouted, unexpectedly emitting a short, abrupt sob. He lowered his voice again, dulling down to such a quiet whisper Carly could barely hear him. "They're not enough…" He shook his head back and forth, a gentle tear rolling smoothly down his cheek. He was starting to get used to the feeling. The feeling of his tears rolling down his cheeks and burning him there. He looked over at Sam, striding towards her, taking her hand in his again and hoping she heard him.

_Did you hear that, Sam? _ he asked her in his mind, unwilling to speak to her out loud while Carly was still there. _Words aren't enough to describe how I feel about you, baby. I wish I'd told you that last night…_ _but I didn't know __**this**__ was going to happen…_ He squeezed her hand and sniffled, trying hard not to break down again.

Carly just watched him, seeming to be deep in thought and staring straight at Sam. She swore she heard her heart crack in her chest when he loomed over her, kissing her on her forehead where the bandage didn't cover her skin and stroking the nasty bruise on her cheek delicately afterwards. She noticed his hand was still tightly interlaced in hers as he did this, and she bit her lip, biting back new tears that threatened to break loose any second. Suddenly, she broke the melancholy silence as she thought about his blaming her for Sam being in a coma.

"But, c'mon, Freddie. _Please_ don't blame Sam's coma on me. You know she's my best friend; I couldn't handle that type of guilt. Remember when she changed the grades in the school's system? I couldn't sleep well for a week… What makes you think I could handle the guilt of putting my best friend in a... in a _coma_? If anything, blame it on Spencer's babysitter. If she wasn't so weird, I wouldn't have needed to scream at them."

He stood there, thinking about what she said, before going back to his previous spot on the other side of the bed in his chair. He could almost hate her now since he'd placed the blame of Sam's coma on her, but he realized something. How could _anyone_ handle the guilt of putting someone else into a life-threatening coma? Who could deal with that type of guilt for the rest of their life, if the patient didn't make it through? And Carly was his best friend. Maybe this was just his anger speaking. The past day had been incredibly tiresome and stressful; he wasn't sure if anything he said would be coming from his real self anymore. Everything that had happened transformed him, changed his once positive view on life, turned into an unpleasant solemnity not even he could describe. Anything he said could be faulty, something that came from his apprehension. His apprehension over Sam's ending up okay.

He couldn't do this to her. He loved Carly. (Though he didn't love her the way he loved Sam.) Carly was like his sister, only a little more than that. She was his best friend. She was someone he loved talking to, loved telling her things. They've been best friends for as long as he could remember; he couldn't blame Sam's coma on her. It was unfair. How could she have known they were standing right behind her? She was right; Spencer and that babysitter really did have a weird relationship. He just didn't like the fact Sam thought the same thing was happening between the two of them.

"No… You know what? Let's not blame Sam's coma on anybody," he finally concluded, speaking slowly, deliberately. He remained deep in thought, staring hard into nothingness intensely. "I'm not sure _anyone_ could handle that type of guilt, no matter how much I happen to dislike them. We shouldn't blame it on anyone."

Carly stared at him, eyebrows scrunching up in the center, a hefty lump beginning to rise in her throat. He looked so… broken. Worried… _Scared_. It made her miss the funny, happy best friend she used to see. Made her miss the good times all three of them used to share. Over the last four hours, she had thought about this whole thing. How it would change so many things. How it would tear her apart if it took years for her to wake up. She remembered Freddie explaining that to her, how long comas last:

_Comas usually last only a few weeks,_ she remembers him saying, words echoing in her head_, but they can also take years, depending on the severity of the patient's injuries._

She could recall the sickening sinking feeling in her stomach and heart when he told her that. She just hoped and prayed to God the same thing wouldn't happen with Sam.

She glanced at the figure laying in the bed in front of them, marveling at how just the fact that she fell into a coma changed so many things. She looked back at Freddie, who was still looking worried and scared. He looked so broken. She wanted to try and fix him. To patch up the wounds this whole coma thing had opened in him. To reassure him. To repair him to the Freddie Benson she once knew. She _was_ his best friend, after all.

"It'll all be okay, Freddie. It has to be," she said softly to him, the only thing she could think of to say.

He wanted to believe her. Ever since the accident, Freddie always wanted someone to reassure him. To help him believe. To believe he'd have Sam back. To believe everything would end up okay.

"I wish I could believe you," he said shakily.

Now he wasn't so sure.

**A/N: There. This chapter actually didn't end in a cliffhanger. Happy? lol. A lot of you were just freaking out every time I ended a chapter with a cliffhanger, so I tried to end this one without one. :P **

**Thanks for reading! Reviews are (and always will be) appreciated! ;)**

**Oh, and by the way, I'm **_**really**_** sorry to break it to you, but you **_**might**_** need to wait a little longer than usual for the next update. :/ I'm **_**really**_** sorry. I have midterms coming up next week, so I've been studying my ass off. Sorry, guys. I really wish I could update sooner, but I really can't. But please stick with me! Even though updates may take long at certain times, I will **_**never**_** abandon this fanfic. NEVER. So, please stick with me! And wish me luck! :P**


	9. Resolutions

**A/N: Wow… Okay, first of all, I would like to apologize to all of my readers about the quite long wait for an update. I am genuinely and sincerely sorry about that. I was just very, very busy with midterms the past few weeks, and I'm happy to say they are over. I hope I can start updating much faster now. **

**Anyway, if you forgot what happened in the last chapter, please go back and just skim through it so you remember the details and chiz. There's a tiny bit more tension between Carly and Freddie here. A tiny bit. But not too major. :P So… read on!**

**Chapter 9: Resolutions**

_- ONE WEEK LATER -_

The door opened with a squeak, revealing Carly clad in dark skinny jeans, black boots, and a fitted t-shirt that complimented her figure.

"Hey, Freddie," she smiled at him lightly, walking in with hands in her back pockets.

"Hey," he called over his shoulder.

He didn't turn around anymore when the door opened; he knew that, whenever it would open at this time, at around fifteen past nine, it was Carly and Spencer. But most of the time, it was just Carly; Spencer had preferred not to stay in the hospital the full thirteen hours because of a bad experience he's had in the past that he didn't want to talk about. But he still stopped by. Freddie, on the other hand, always got there ten minutes _before_ nine, at 8:50. He waited out the ten minutes remaining in the lobby, and right when it would hit nine o'clock, he'd sprint to the elevators and go up to the third floor and straight to room 308.

He knew he had missed an entire week of school; his mom already received a phone call from Principal Franklin. He had told him the situation involving Sam and told him not to get Ridgeway's students involved. He didn't want people calling him or worrying about him or Sam too much. He'd been under so much stress the past week. The last thing he wanted to do was add to it by letting people know Sam was in a coma. Principal Franklin was nice enough to give Freddie an entire month off when he heard of Sam's condition. However, he said that when his month break was over and done with, which was on first day of November, he'd have to come back to school one way or another. He didn't care how; he just said he needed Freddie to be at school and wouldn't be allowed to give him more than a month break from school.

Freddie still wasn't sure how he was going to deal with school right now. He was far too busy lulling over Sam at the moment that school was honestly the last thing on his mind nowadays. He would deal with it when his break was over. It was October 1st today. He had precisely thirty-one days. Thirty-one days to spend the full thirteen visiting hours of every day with Sam.

He just needed to make each of those thirteen hours worthwhile while he still could.

Carly walked over to the other side and dragged her chair over to her side of the bed.

"Freddie, I just realized…" she said, trailing off when he looked at her as she sat down slowly. "What are we gonna' do about iCarly?" she whispered, scared of the answer she would receive.

He was a little taken aback. Wow... Amidst all of the commotion involving Sam's coma, he'd nearly forgotten the webshow he was the technical producer for. He looked over at her, a contemplative look on his face as he twisted his lips to the side, thinking about it. He hated what he was about to say, but he had to. What else could they do? She was the co-host.

"Look, Carly… I know… I know this is going to be hard for you to accept, but…" he began, choosing his words carefully, but was cut off by her.

"No," she protested immediately at his words. "No, Freddie. Don't you dare say it."

"Carly—"

"NO!" she screamed in interruption. "Freddie, we've been doing iCarly since freshman year! You're _not_ going to sit there and tell me we're going to need to stop iCarly just because Sam is in a coma!"

"WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT TO FUCKING DO, CARLY? JESUS!" he bellowed, suddenly becoming furious at her for what she said, veins popping out from under the skin on his neck. "What the hell do you mean 'just because Sam is in a coma'? You can't continue the show if she's in a goddamn coma! She's the fucking co-host for God's sake! How could you say something so _stupid_, Carly? Yes! Sam's in a coma! Yes! I don't know what to do about it! Yes! It changes A LOT of things! I don't get how you haven't accepted that already! Do you know how hard it is for me? To just sit here _every fucking day_, staring at her and knowing I won't get a response back? I don't know how long this is going to take, Carly! Hell, I don't even know if she's going to be _okay_!So yes, iCarly has to stop production if you want Sam to get through this!" he shrieked, angrier than he's ever been in his entire life. How could she have said something so stupid?

She stared at him, opening her mouth to say something, but she closed it again, her bottom lip suddenly trembling. He noticed her eyes began to water as she began to whimper.

"No…" he trailed off, suddenly feeling bad and shaking his head back and forth. "No, Carly, please don't…"

Her legs gave out, sprawling onto the ground as she let out a wail, one hand placed on the floor to hold herself up.

"…cry," he finished to himself, softening his once hardened gaze and getting up with a huff, walking to her.

He walked over to her, sitting down next to her and hugging her to him. She turned her head and proceeded to cry into his shirt. He placed his chin on the soft brown hair on her head as he rubbed his hand up and down her arm, soothing her, trying to calm her down.

"Shhhh," he said gently in her ear. "I'm sorry, Carly. I didn't mean to—"

"Nooo," she wailed, voice contorting weirdly in accordance with her sobbing. "_I'm_ sorry… I shouldn't have said that. I don't know what I was thinking, Freddie! It's just…" she picked her head up and looked at him as she proceeded. "We've been doing iCarly for so many years, Freddie. I'm sorry! I didn't mean to say that; I just don't want to let iCarly go! I mean, I understand Sam's in a coma. I do. Really. I do. I just- I can't stand the idea of stopping iCarly," she began to ramble.

"Carly…" he said.

"C'mon, _you_ know all of the amazing times we've had while we made it! How could you even _think_ of letting all of that go? iCarly is as much a part of us as our hearts! We _need_ it. We need iCarly to live! Or at least I do!" she continued, panicking and rambling.

He was beginning to get annoyed. When Carly did this, she usually did ramble on and on and on and on, and Freddie couldn't deal with that right now if he already had a headache forming in his head, making him hear the blood pounding and swirling inside.

"Carly…" he coaxed, this time louder.

"I mean, I'm sorry I said that about Sam! I really am. It just came out 'cause I was so worried about it. You have to understa—"

"CARLY!" he finally screamed, and she immediately froze, jumping a little bit, startled by his outburst.

"Sorry," he huffed under his breath for a second before continuing. "Look, Carly. I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to yell at you like that. It was just an instinct. Actually… Honestly, I don't understand why you could've said something so stupid. You know I have no control over Sam's being a coma, and you also know how much it upsets me. And you too. Sam's coma changed so many things. I'm sure you know that. You're her best friend."

"Yeah, I know—"

"No, _shush_," he said sternly. "Let me finish."

She shut her mouth promptly and remained quiet against him. He huffed again before starting. "Look… I know iCarly has been a part of our lives for so long, Carly. I do. Don't even think for once I'm not aware of all the amazing times we've had making it. But what you also have to understand is that the show can't continue on with Sam in a coma. It just simply can't happen. iCarly without Sam wouldn't be the same, and you know that. But you also have to accept the fact that iCarly can't continue," he said, wanting her to understand, _needing_ her to understand. But a better thought than ending iCarly in its entirety came to his mind.

"Y'know what? How about this… Instead of ending iCarly totally, I think we should just put it on hiatus. Ending it would be pretty painful. For both you and for me. And for Sam. If Sam wakes up, imagine what would happen if we told her we ended iCarly. It would tear her apart. More than that, she'd be heartbroken. Sam loves doing iCarly. We all do. So let's just put it on a temporary hiatus. It should only be a few more weeks until she wakes up. At least we _hope_…" he trailed off, looking into space momentarily before going back to the conversation. "So there. Just… just put it on hiatus. Until… things get back to normal," he said calmly.

She looked up at him appreciatively at his resolution and nodded.

"Thanks, Freddie," she whispered.

"No problem," he mumbled back, unwrapping his arms around her and yawning. He scooted over next to her and let her rest her head on his shoulder. "Oh, gosh. I am exhausted."

"Me, too," she chortled as she yawned, eyes drooping slowly.

He looked at the clock and grimaced. _Dang. Already 9:57?_ Just as he realized visiting hours were almost over, Dr. Jacobson walked into the room. He stopped abruptly as he saw Carly and Freddie sitting on the floor, a surprised look on his face.

"Uh… hello," he said awkwardly, the corner of his lip turning up at the sight. He glanced at the clock, getting slightly alarmed as he saw what time it was. "Oh… Wow. Uhh… I'm sorry to tell you this, but visiting hours are just about over. I'm gonna' need you guys to leave soon." He looked at them apologetically and shrugged a bit.

Freddie nodded in response as he yawned, lifting his arms over his head and stretching a bit.

"Yeah, we were just about to get going," he said, starting to get up from his spot on the floor. He nudged Carly, whose eyes were already closed. "Carly," he said hoarsely, then clearing his throat. "Carly," he said, sternly this time. "Wake up."

She groaned in protest, opening her eyes momentarily to look up at him. She shook her head. Just when Freddie was going to protest, she raised her arms up in demonstration and said, "Carry me."

He laughed slightly, shaking his head. "No, Carly, I'm not going to carry—"

"Please?" she looked up at him and pouting, giving him her signature puppy dog face.

"I…" he began to protest, but stopped when he saw the look on her face. "Ugh, fineee," he grunted, leaning over lazily, gathering her up in his arms and lifting her. He placed his left arm under her knees and his right around her slender upper body. She wrapped her arms around his neck for support and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Thanks," she smiled, before yawning again.

"Welcome," he grunted irritably, making her giggle a bit.

The last thing she felt was herself being pushed into the backseat of a car before passing out.

**A/N: Aww. I thought the Carly/Freddie friendship here (Don't worry, I won't use the 'C-word') ;P was pretty cute. I personally like the Carly/Freddie friendship. It's cute. But if this is worrying you, stop worrying. lol. I would **_**never**_** have them end up together in a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship at the end of this story, because 1) you guys would totally hate me and 2) that would just ruin the Seddieness that's been happening. :P**

**Thanks for reading! Review, if you so please! :)**


	10. All My Fault

**A/N: Wow… Can I apologize very, VERY sincerely to all of my readers? A month… a fucking month! It took me a month to update this when I promised updates wouldn't take that long… I give you all permission to virtually slap me right now. lol. Well, if you've totally forgotten what has happened since the last time you read, please skim that over a bit. I'm very sorry for the long wait. Seriously. I'm about to walk up to a mirror and scream at my reflection right now. :P**

**Thanks for sticking with me, and continue on! I hope this chapter makes up for it. :/ **

**Chapter 10: All My Fault**

-_ ONE DAY LATER _-

_Don't it always seem to go_

_That you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone_

Freddie gripped the steering wheel tightly in his hands as the song "Big Yellow Taxi" played on the radio. It had been playing for only about forty seconds, and he was beginning to get annoyed.

_Don't it always seem to go_

_That you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone_

It had him thinking about Sam as his car stopped at the red stoplight that always took forever to turn green. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in frustration and checked the time on his dashboard. 8:40 AM. Good. He was going to be on time. As usual.

He was on his way to the hospital, and he always got there at precisely ten minutes before visiting hours would start, which was 8:50 in the morning. The receptionist that he had scared shitless the first time he was there—whose name he'd discovered was Cindy—always said hi to him in the morning after being there constantly. Sometimes they would even have a friendly conversation. But right when that clock hit 9:00, he would sprint to the elevators and get up to the third floor and to room 308 with lightning speed.

_Hey now, now_

_Don't it always seem to go_

_That you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone_

_They paved paradise_

_And put up a parking lot_

His hand flitted up to slam the radio off, having enough of it. Don't get him wrong; he always loved the song. It was catchy. It was just the fact that its lyrics fit so well into his life's situation at the moment that irritated him.

_Damn you, Joni Mitchell._

After a few more minutes of driving around, he finally pulled into the visitor's parking lot, which was full as usual, and quickly found a spot as close as possible to the entrance. He hopped out of his car and jogged to the entrance under the thick, stifling heat of the blazing Seattle sun, pressing the lock button on his keys as he moved farther away from his car. The automatic doors slid open as he approached, gradually slowing down his jog to a casual walk. He saw Cindy and gave a friendly wave, the corner of his lip turning up slightly and walking closer to her.

"Hey, Cindy," he said, leaning on one arm against the desk.

"Hey," she smiled back. "What are you here for?"

"Uhmm, is that a rhetorical question?" he replied, smirking a bit.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just kidding around with ya'," she laughed, waving a hand casually and turning her attention back to the computer sitting in front of her.

He laughed, removing his arm from the desk and walking over to one of the chairs nearby, sitting down and staring at the digital clock on the wall until it turned to 9:00. It was 8:50. Just ten more minutes and he'd be up and out of his chair and to the elevators up to the third floor and room 308 in record time. So he leaned back and waited, twiddling his thumbs and studying the rest of the people in the lobby, looking back at the clock every 10 seconds as if the ten minutes would go by like seconds.

Nine minutes later, his leg was bouncing up and down in anticipation, biting his lip and twiddling his thumbs even faster in his chair. He was like this every morning. Right when it was 8:59 it was like he was preparing his body for that sprint he would take to the elevators and up.

9:00.

Freddie sprang up from his seat, startling an old woman sitting next to him, as he proceeded to bolt to the elevators. Cindy shook her head and chuckled a bit as she stared at her computer screen, seeing Freddie go careening by the front desk from the corner of her eye. He spotted the first open elevator and shoved himself into it, nerves bouncing in anticipation as he tapped his foot and looked up at the floor number illuminated at the top of the elevator. Floor 1.

"C'mon…" he whispered, but not loud enough so the other people in the elevator would hear it.

The doors finally closed as everyone got in, and once Freddie heard the ding that indicated the third floor, he pushed his way through the people and sprang out, muttering a quick apology over his shoulder as he flew by the receptionist on the third floor who managed visiting hours.

"Sir, it's not visiting hours yet!" she screamed after him as he flung open room 308.

"Look behind you and at the clock, smarty!" he yelled back over his shoulder as he ran into 308, now slowing down and walking towards Sam calmly. He took her hand in his and kissed her gently, letting his thumb trace the now fading bruise on her cheek lightly.

"Morning, sweetheart," he smiled, still tracing his thumb over her cheek.

He grabbed his usual chair and placed it at the same usual spot and plopped down into it, intertwining their fingers again. He kissed her hand lightly, leaning forward to rest his forearms against the side of the bed. As he waited out the fifteen minutes for Carly to come, which was at 9:15, he sat there, studying Sam and the room around him.

Seventeen minutes later, Freddie scrunched up his eyebrows, looking at the clock in the room and wondering where Carly could be.

"Hmph," he said, looking back at the door.

As if on cue, Carly sprang in, slightly out of breath with Spencer dragging in after her.

"Hey!" she exclaimed between breaths, dropping her purse on the floor and a white plastic bag.

Freddie smirked. "Well, you're late."

"Well, we all can't get here at exactly 9:00 in the morning, Freddie," she deadpanned, glaring at him.

He laughed. "Yeah, yeah. I'm kidding. But seriously, 9:17?" he exasperated sarcastically, gesturing towards the clock.

"Ugh, shut up!" she laughed, throwing a nearby tissue box at him.

He laughed as he caught it right before it hit him in the chest, placing it on top of the monitor next to Sam's bed. She crossed her arms and made her way to the other side of the bed, yawning as she grabbed the chair and dragged it as close to Sam as possible.

"So what's in the bag?" he asked as she sat down, looking back at the purse and plastic bag she had left on the ground near the door.

"Oh, it's lunch," she said. "I was kinda' getting tired of the hospital café food."

"Oh, okay," he said, leaning forward to intertwine his fingers with Sam's again, his tone going serious again.

"Uh, y'know… I'm still here," said Spencer, gesturing to himself as he stood there awkwardly near the door, no one paying attention to him.

They didn't respond, just looked over at him and stared. Not angrily. Just to indicate they honestly didn't care.

He sighed in defeat. "Okay… I'll probably be going now before I start to have those flashbacks again," he said, shuddering a bit. "You're driving Carly back home, right?" he asked Freddie.

"Yup," Freddie replied. "Spencer, we already discussed this. I told you Carly and I would drive home to Bushwell together every day we visit."

"Yeah, but I just wanna' make sure so I don't need to worry about it," Spencer said. "So… I'll see you guys later, okay?"

"Yup," both of them supplied.

Spencer turned around and left, closing the door behind him. They turned back around, sitting together in silence as they studied the figure in the bed in front of them. Sam's coma was hard to deal with; both of them had such a difficult past week. Sure, Dr. Jacobson told them that most comas usually only last a few weeks and that he was pretty confident Sam would be one of those patients, but there was that one little tidbit of information that he had told them that made them worry so much sometimes: that the coma could possibly last years.

Dr. Jacobson had said he was _confident_ Sam's coma would only last a few normal weeks, but he didn't say he was _sure_. That's what made this so hard for the both of them. They couldn't imagine what they'd do if Sam would stay in a coma for years. It was terrifying to think about, so they never brought it up with each other, though both of them knew the other thought about it often.

"Hey, have you thought about what we're doing on the new iCarly this Fri—" Carly suddenly started, stopping as realization came over her, looking away, embarrassed. "Sorry," she shook her head. "I'm sorry. I forgo—"

"Don't worry about it," Freddie interrupted, not wanting her to get uncomfortable.

He understood her mistake. iCarly had been a part of their lives for so long; he didn't blame her for thinking they were still managing it at the moment. Though the fans had gone berserk and got scared when they announced it on the website, Carly and Freddie knew it was for the best. It was for Sam. Either they had to manage a web-show while Sam was in a coma or they put it on hiatus. They chose the latter.

The steady beeping of the heart monitor had filled the silence, and they both sat there, Freddie still rubbing circles on Sam's hand and Carly just studying her, looking over at Freddie every once in awhile. Some would call it awkward. Some would call it weird to just sit there with a coma patient without speaking. But it wasn't. Carly and Freddie had actually felt comfortable the past week being in there with Sam and not saying anything. It felt comfortable. It felt _right_ to be spending time with Sam while she recovered.

They just hoped they didn't need to do this for years.

ø

Freddie leaned back in his chair, yawning and stretching his arms up over his head. It was 1 o'clock already; the five hours had gone by so quickly. He looked over at Carly, who was eating the sandwich and Wahoo Punch she brought from home. He felt a grumbling in his stomach. All he had this morning was one of those wood-tasting organic granola bars in the kitchen that his mother bought all the time, and he stared at Carly, now being consumed by hunger. Pun not intended.

His mouth began to water just staring at the turkey that was sandwiched between the slices of bread of Carly's sandwich. Suddenly, she looked at him, an odd expression on her face as she stopped chewing. She continued chewing slowly and swallowed it down slowly, still looking at Freddie weirdly.

"Is there a reason why you find my sandwich so fascinating all of a sudden, Freddie?" she asked, still holding the sandwich up.

"Huh?" he asked suddenly, shaken from his reverie.

"You're staring at my sandwich," she said slowly with an amused look.

"Oh… I-I was? Sorry… I'm just- uh. Hungry," he stuttered, a loud growl coming from his stomach.

Carly smirked a bit, the corner turning up slightly as she gave a short chuckle.

"Was that your stomach?"

"No. I mean, yes... I dunno'. Probably," he stuttered again.

Besides the hunger he was feeling, he was also feeling an uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. Was he that hungry? Or was there something else there?

"Then why don't you… get something to eat?" she asked almost sarcastically, wondering why he was acting so strangely.

"Uh, yeah, sure… Yeah, I'll go do that now," he said, gesturing towards the door and getting up from his chair and leaving, grumbling to himself at how ungraceful that all was.

She watched him walk out of the door, shaking her head and still smiling as she went back to her sandwich. That was strange. He was acting all… weird. Just because he was hungry. Maybe there was just a lot on his mind.

Freddie yawned again as he pressed the down button for the elevator, crossing his arms and wondering why he acted so weird. He just felt like he should suddenly be guilty of something. But why? He pondered this as he walked in when he heard the elevator ding and open in front of him. He looked to see that level 1 was already pressed by someone on the console, so he just took a spot and waited for it to go down quietly. The guilty feeling was still prodding at him when he stepped off the elevator, and he couldn't figure it out.

_It's probably just the hunger_, he thought, not making too big a deal of it.

Later on, though, even as he ate his sandwich alone at one of the small, round table's in the hospital café, the guilty feeling was still eating at him.

ø

Carly disposed of her sandwich wrapper and Wahoo Punch can in the trash bin by the door, and she went back to her chair and waited for Freddie to come back. The steady beeping of the heart monitor brought her attention back to Sam again, and she leaned forward, studying Sam again.

She looked to be healing a bit. The cuts she had were beginning to scab, and the once nasty bruise on her face had finally alleviated to a round, light brown mark. Carly could feel herself beginning to feel sad again. Seeing Sam in this bed, and being reminded of the good times they spent together when she was awake always made her sad now. Some days it just made her cry, and it would make Freddie cry, too. Sam was their best friend, and seeing her go through something like this was absolutely terrifying and heart-wrenching. Some days it was just too much to take.

Carly was shaken from her reverie when she heard the door open with a squeak as Freddie came in, a contemplative, almost worried expression on his face as he stared at the floor and closed the door slowly.

"Finally got over that hunger, Freddie?" she quipped, smiling a bit.

Her smile drops off her face when he doesn't respond, just keeps that worried expression on his face as he sat down.

"Freddie?" she asked, suddenly getting really worried herself. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"That's just it, Carly," he said, shaking his head a bit. "I… I don't know. I just suddenly have this like… _guilty_ feeling all of a sudden, like I'm supposed to be guilty of something."

She tilted her head to the side a bit, eyebrows scrunching up. "Why?"

"I don't know!" he exclaimed, shrugging a bit and finally looking up at her. "_Should _I be guilty of something? Did I do something wrong?"

"Uhm, not that I know of," she responded. "I mean, you've spent the entire week here at the hospital, so unless you did something bad to Sam, I don't _think_ you did anything wrong."

"But I didn't!" he exasperated, gesturing with his hands a bit. "Why would I even think of hurting Sam? Or anyone for that matter?"

He leaned forward in the chair, bringing his elbows to his knees and staring at Sam, clasping his hands together in front of him.

"But for some reason," he started, barely a whisper, "it feels like I should be guilty of something that has to do with her."

"But if you didn't hurt her or anything, then why would you feel guilty of—"

"That's exactly what's going through my mind right now!" he exasperated, clearly confused, worried, and scared all at the same time. "It's just… weird."

She doesn't respond this time, just waits for him to say something as he sat there and stared at Sam, hoping he didn't do anything wrong.

"You know what? I don't think it should be anything we should worry about too much. Let's just leave it alone; it'll probably disappear by tomorrow."

"I hope so."

"Me, too," he answered, taking Sam's hand in his and kissing it, that worried, slightly scared look on his face again, the one he always wore when he saw Sam now.

After sitting there for a few minutes, Freddie reached for the remote to the flat-screen TV hanging on the wall in the room and pressed on, wanting to take his mind off of the guilty feeling that was currently eating him alive. He wanted to ignore it, put it off as some sort of weird feeling that occurred as a result of teenage hormones, but it wouldn't go away, and it just worried him even more as he continued to think about it.

He flipped through the channels and stopped finally at the news, the only thing he seemed to be interested to watch at the moment. He placed the remote back in its original spot and leaned back in his chair, watching the TV. His mind wouldn't focus on it, though; he kept thinking about the damn guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it wouldn't allow him to focus on anything but itself. After several minutes, he yawned and went back to looking at Sam, who was breathing steadily and lying there motionless as usual. He shook his head, feeling incredibly sorry that this happened to her.

He turned his head suddenly when the TV mentioned the crash.

"In other news, we have just received more input about the huge crash on Route 2 last week, which had totaled up to 29 fatalities and left 15 injured," the woman said.

"Jesus Christ," Freddie muttered under his breath.

He hadn't expected the number to be so high. For a car crash, 29 people was a lot of deaths. Sure, he felt sorry for Sam, but he had to think about all the families that didn't even have a chance to say goodbye. He thanked God for being able to have that chance.

He just hoped it wouldn't have the goodbye included in it.

"Eric Davidson has more on the story," the woman continued.

"Thanks, Lisa," the other reporter, who was standing next to a bulky man with his arm in a sling, said as the screen cut to his frame. "I'm standing here with Robert Mendelson, the driver of the tractor-trailer which had tipped over as a result of the crash. Miraculously, he has only suffered a broken arm and is, as you can see, currently in a cast and sling. He has just been released from the hospital, and we came to learn more about the story. Robert, would you mind telling us about how your truck tipped over?"

"Well, I was just driving down the road to deliver some goods to a supermarket down in southern California, and it was really pretty late," the man said in a countryside accent. "And then, to the right of me, I just see a small, red car with a tired-looking young lady in it. She seemed to be crying a bit, too. For a split-second, I saw her eyes sort of droop, and before I knew it, her car was leaning into my truck. I blasted the horn to try and wake her up or something, but then she like jerked awake and swerved the car right into the front of mine. I wanted to avoid hitting her, so instinctually, I jerked the steering wheel. And before I know it, my truck is skidding down the highway sideways. I mean, I don't know what condition that young lady is in now, but I sure do hope she's okay. Her car seemed to be pretty beaten up."

"So, basically, you're saying all that occurred because of a tired driver?" the reporter asked, bringing the microphone back to his mouth as he spoke before tilting it back towards Robert.

"Yeah, basically," he replied in his southern accent again.

"Well, there you go, ladies and gentlemen," the reporter said, turning back towards the camera as it panned away from Robert's view. "Always stay alert when you're driving and never drive when you're tired. I'm Eric Davidson, and this has been the Seattle News."

Freddie sat there in disbelief, his throat closing up and drying all of a sudden. His breath seemed to have been taken away from him, his breathing becoming shallow as he looked from the TV and back to Sam, who lay there, still motionless and breathing steadily.

"I… I caused this?" Freddie asked, his voice cracking a bit.

Tears were beginning to brim his eyes, and he looked at Carly, who just looked back at him with a worried expression.

"Freddie, no. You didn't cause this. What do you mean—?"

"NO! I should've known Sam was too tired. I should've _known_ I shouldn't have let her leave!" he began to panic, his breathing becoming even shallower. "If I had stopped Sam from leaving, she wouldn't be in this bed right now and in a damn coma!" he screamed at Carly, a tear rolling down his face which was quickly followed by another. "Is _this_ what I was feeling guilty about all day?"

"Freddie, no, you didn't cause this! How were you supposed to know—?"

"I… I can't deal with this right now," he whimpered, getting up from his chair and fleeing the room.

"Freddie!" Carly called after him, getting up from her chair frantically and running to the door herself. "Freddie! This isn't your fault!"

She saw a flash of his dark blue plaid shirt down the hall to the right of her, and she ran after him, seeing him for a split-second turn the corner into another hallway.

"Freddie!" she yelled after him, trying to catch up with him.

She grunted in frustration when she saw him turn another corner into another hallway, and she tried picking up her pace as fast as she could without tripping. She veered the corner, nearly running into a nurse as she did and saw Freddie run into the men's bathroom. When she reached its door, she stopped short of it, momentarily worrying if she should go in or not before taking a chance and bursting in, yelling Freddie's name again.

"Freddie!" she yelled, looking around immediately and feeling relieved there were no other people inside.

Knowing he wouldn't respond to her screams, she listened silently for a noise to indicate which stall he was in, and it didn't take long. She could hear him sniffling and breathing heavily in the sixth one down. She walked over to it and knocked on the door violently, getting angry with him.

"Freddie! Get the heck out of there! It isn't your fault!" she yelled, banging on the door again.

She continued screaming at him to get out before she finally huffed and walked backwards, crossing her arms and resting her back against the white ledge of the counter of the sinks.

"Freddie! Get out of there right now, or I'll crawl under the stall and get to you! This isn't your fault!" she yelled at the gray door of the stall.

She listened to his heavy sobs and the sniffles he made for a few more minutes, tapping her foot, until she heard him say something.

"I… I _promised_ her, Carly," he whimpered, sniffling again.

"Promised who? What?" she asked, eyebrows furrowing.

"I… promised Sam," he whimpered, voice distorted due to his sobbing.

"You promised Sam what, Freddie?" she asked, walking towards the stall again and leaning forward to try and hear a response. She was met with silence and more sobs. "Oh, my God, get out of that stall right now! You're being so unreasonable right now! Sam's coma isn't your fau—!"

He burst from the stall suddenly, startling Carly as he walked towards her quickly, making her walk backwards into counter again.

"I promised her I wouldn't hurt her, Carly! I promised her," he yelled close to her face. "When we first started dating, she asked me to promise her I'd never hurt her. But look! Fucking look! I hurt her in a way neither one of us can even _handle_! She has the possibility of _dying_ because of me, Carly! Do you realize that? The crash. The coma. _Everything_! It's all _my_ fault!" he screamed, nearly unintelligible due to his heavy crying and shaky breaths.

The rapid beating of his heart, the overwhelming feeling of guilt that washed over him in waves as he continued to think about it, made the tightness in his chest grow even more constricting, and he gasped for air, stumbling towards the nearest wall to sit down against it. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes tightly, hugging his lips together and shaking his head before he gave up, hanging his head to his chest and crying endlessly, letting the tears darken his shirt in small patches. He couldn't say anything anymore, the guilt piercing his chest making his head feel dizzy and tears to continue burning his eyes.

Carly looked at him sympathetically for a moment before walking towards him and crouching down in front of him, gently placing a hand on his knee.

"Freddie," she coaxed him. "Freddie... Freddie, look at me."

He finally lifted his head and looked at her, eyes beginning to rim with a harsh scarlet color. She could see they were beginning to swell along with the dampness traced around them, and it only made the look on her face look even more worried than before.

"This isn't your fault," she said, squeezing his knee.

"Yes, it is. I—"

"No! Oh, my God, can you shut up for at least five minutes so I can just say something here?" Carly interrupted him in frustration. He stopped arguing, letting his lips stay shut and allowing Carly to talk.

"Look, I don't care what you think, but the accident Sam was in was _not _your fault."

He wanted to open his mouth and argue again, but he fought against it, not wanting Carly to get more frustrated with him than she already was.

"I mean, how were you supposed to know Sam was that tired? How were you supposed to _know_ there just happened to be a tractor-trailer next to her while she was driving?" she said softly.

He just looked up at her, shaking his head as if to say it _was _his fault, and he _should_ have known those things.

"This crash. Sam's coma. _None _of it is your fault. Like you said, we shouldn't blame Sam's coma on anyone. You tried blaming it on me, and you know how absolutely guilty I would've felt. You yourself said no one would be able to _handle_ that type of guilt! What makes you think _you_ can?" she exasperated, shaking her head at him in disbelief. "Now, I'm not saying it _was_ your fault, but don't be an idiot. Whatever happened that night happened. And it wasn't your fault. It was _nobody's_ fault."

"But if it's nobody's fault, then how did it happen in the first place?" Freddie tried to challenge forcefully, but his voice still shook a bit from the tears.

"Well, then, maybe life decided to throw a curveball in your way. And you just have to find a way to hit it right back," Carly said. "I mean, all those people who died? _Twenty-nine _people died that night, Freddie. And Sam wasn't one of those people. There's a reason for that. You broke up with Sam that night, too, and now you feel closer to Sam than you ever have before, and she's not even awake!" she exasperated, smiling a little bit. "If I were you, I'd actually be a little bit _thankful_ that Sam was in that crash. I mean, without it, you wouldn't be together anymore, and you probably would have gone your separate ways. Screw becoming better friends before dating again; this coma made you realize how much you value Sam and how much you love her! And how much you care about her. I see it in your face _every day_ now, Freddie. That worried, slightly scared look you get every time you see her. Like you're terrified the next breath she takes could be her last," she said, making his heart pang a little bit before she continued.

"You care about her now more than you ever did. And the crash, no matter how painful and hard the outcome was, believe it or not, helped you out with that. It brought you closer to Sam, and you know it," she said, pointing to him with her forefinger. "Life works in strange ways, Freddie. And even if you might hate what it did to you, it helped you out in the end. Remember that. This wasn't—_isn't_—your fault. Life's hard, and it's _really_ hard right now. I know that. But you'll get through it. I know you can. Sam's not dead. This isn't over, Freddie. It never was, and as long as you hang in there with me, it never will."

Freddie's breathing had become considerably calmer now with Carly's words. He was taken aback. He hadn't expected Carly to be so… _right_. Usually, he hated being wrong, but he had to admit, Carly was being absolutely reasonable right now. Where the pain in his chest was previously wrenched with guilt, it now faded to a very dull ache that he could start to forget about. He looked up and at Carly, taking his gaze away from the floor.

"Uh… Wow, Carly. Thank you. That was really… helpful," he said softly, staring at her in wonderment, wondering when she became such an intellectual. He wasn't sure _he_ would've been able to say things like that if the situation were reversed.

"You're welcome," she grinned, holding her hand out to him as she got up from her crouching position.

He smiled up at her and took it, placing his other hand on the floor to push himself up.

"Now let's get out of here and back to Sam," she said, smiling and nodding her head towards the door. "I don't want to be caught hanging around in the men's room."

"Yeah," he laughed. "No problem."

Later on, as Freddie kept Sam's hand intertwined in his, studying her carefully, he realized what Carly had said was right. Life was going to be hard from here on in, at least until Sam woke up from this coma.

He just hoped he'd have the strength to power through it.

**A/N: Alright, my lovely readers who so painstakingly waited out that one month for an update. If you would like to yell at me in your review for taking so long, I totally would accept it. In fact, I'd love it if you did that; it means more motivation for me. Hahaha. :P**

**Anyway, thanks for sticking around, and I really am sorry about updating so late. I sincerely hope the next update won't take as long and my teachers don't bombard me with work this week. **

**Hopefully, I'll get the next chapter up by this weekend. Maybe even earlier if I'm lucky. I'm working on it right now. Just hang in there and if I don't update by this Sunday, please yell at me! lol. :)**

**Thanks for reading! Review? *sigh* Maybe I shouldn't even ask anymore. I say that word far too much in my author's notes. lol. **

**V**


	11. Three Words, Eight Letters, One Regret

**A/N: WHAAAT? I updated? Is this a figment of your imagination? Fear not, my fellow readers! It is real! This is chapter 11, which took me FOREVER to get to. I'm really sorry. I keep doing this. But once school is over for me, which is the 21st, the updates will be coming much, much faster, okay? Promise. **

**Oh, and kind of a sad chapter today. I know, I know. You're thinking, "AND IT WASN'T SAD BEFORE?" Haha. I hope this chapter isn't too depressing, though this whole fanfic is pretty much sad in its entirety. But don't worry; it'll get better. Trust me. It will. **

**Chapter 11: Three Words, Eight Letters, One Regret: I Miss You**

_- ONE MONTH LATER -_

It had been a month. And _hell,_ if it wasn't the most painful month he'd ever experienced in his entire life. He spent each day, during the entire thirteen hours he could stay, talking to Sam. Just simply being with her, even though he knew he'd get no reply back.

Each day that passed was agonizing. Every time the day ended with Sam not waking up, he felt like punching his fist through a wall, at the same time weeping endlessly with complete trepidation.

He found himself asking the question, "Why did this have to happen?" over and over again during the course of the month, not understanding what he did to deserve this, what _Sam_ did to deserve this. He was still asking the same question as he sat down next to her, waiting for Carly to come back from the hospital's café to bring him their food.

Every night when he went home, it was hard. Hard for him to know she wasn't going to be there with him. Hard for him to just leave her laying in that goddamn hospital bed, not being there for her. Hard for him to know he wouldn't feel her warm, slender body pressed against his in a comforting embrace. Every day when he went home, he'd ignore his mom's pleads for him to talk to her, to tell her what he was thinking, what he was feeling. He just went to the fire escape, where his very first memory of their intimate relationship took place.

He nearly cried the first day he went out there, the flashback clouding the very recesses of his mind. He remembered everything about that day. The nervousness he was feeling right before the kiss. The softness of her lips against his, how it seemed to be a comfortable fit.

He remembers the anger he felt towards Sam when he first brought the stereo out, fuming with the fact that she told the world he hadn't kissed anyone—live on iCarly, for that matter—causing him to be a hermit living on his fire escape. He chuckled as he thought about how ironic it was that Sam ended up being his first kiss.

He missed that. Kissing her. Sure, he kissed her every time he visited her at the hospital, but he missed the way her lips moved perfectly in tandem with his. A slow rhythm that he'd come to love. It was a wonderful sensation. One that could have his heart soaring and happiness seeping from his very being in mere seconds.

He felt the warm sensation, the one that traveled from his ears down to his toes and back up to his heart to punch him there, rush through him again as he looked up at Sam's figure, hand latched onto hers as always. He let out a shaky breath to prevent the tears from forming. As he had predicted, he had gotten used to the feel of his tears steaming a path down his cheeks, leaving caustic red streaks that made him wince at the way they stung relentlessly.

He missed her. He missed talking to her. He missed the smile he would receive when she'd see him first thing in the morning. He missed their playful arguments that always led to a kiss. He missed the make-out sessions (that _she_ usually initiated, mind you) that they would have in public, just throwing their PDA every which way. He missed the smirks she would give him when she pulled away from a _very_ lengthy make-out session, probably staring at the way his cheeks blushed a scarlet pink and his ears turned red, hair left unkempt as a goofy grin formed on his face. He missed everything about her. Sure, she was laying there right in front of him, motionless, but it wasn't the same. He missed everything about her when she was _awake_.

He missed her eyes especially. He dreamed of the day they would open, so he could see the blue crystals staring back into his. He loved those eyes. They could change color with her mood. They'd narrow in the center and turn very bright when she was angry. They'd darken when she was embarrassed. They'd brighten up and nearly glimmer when she was happy.

Bottom line, he noticed. He noticed everything about her, would refuse to stop looking at her fondly when she walked around. She was his girlfriend, his prized possession, his Samantha. He couldn't _help_ staring at her. She was beautiful. He wished he made her more aware of that when she was awake. He wished he'd told her so many things. It was incredibly hard to know he might not be able to tell her for so long, maybe even years.

He imagined what life would be like if she stayed in that coma for years. He'd probably die. He couldn't take that. He couldn't imagine what he'd do every day if that happened.

His mind suddenly flitted back to the day he first kissed her again. Over the past month, every time he went home, he'd go out on the fire escape. _That _fire escape. It was funny how a ledge used as a precautionary escape route brought back so many memories. Memories that he cherished and missed.

He just hoped Sam wouldn't _become_ one of those memories.

He gazed at her, her hand held to his lips in a long kiss as tears began to fill his eyes once again. This time, the urge was too strong, and they fell directly onto her hand, avoiding his cheeks entirely and just dripping directly onto their intertwined hands. He let out a shaky breath and began talking to her.

"Hey… Sam," he finished, trying to remove the shakiness in his voice. "Y'know what I was just thinking about? I was just thinking about… you, basically," he chuckled momentarily. "I mean, it _is_ always you that's on my mind nowadays now that you're here… and in a coma." He closed his eyes tightly and shook his head fervently, trying to focus and not break down like he had been doing the past month. "But what I was also thinking about was… our first kiss. You remember that, right?" he asked, squeezing her hand softly. "I do, too," he said, voice cracking.

No. This was not a time to break down again. He needed to finish. He'd just been a weak bastard the past month, just breaking down as he spoke to her and not finishing. He clenched and re-clenched his teeth over and over as he regained his voice.

"I remember the day _so clearly_. I remember you coming out and apologizing to me. I remember me thinking about the possibility… that you might want to have your first kiss with me. I thought it was stupid. But it wasn't… I know that now," he laughed briefly, squeezing her hand again. "Now I kiss you all the time. And I love it. Don't doubt me on that. Like I said, it makes me feel like you're mine, 'cause you wouldn't allow anyone else to do that with you. And I'm just so glad I'm the one you chose…" he trailed off, biting his lip.

He suddenly remembered what his mom said about coma patients being able to hear. He could clearly remember her words to him from a month ago, echoing in his mind, _You can talk to her, read to her, or even play music... It __**is **__only a possibility—that she can hear you—but hey, it's worth a chance, right?_

He wanted her to hear him. He wanted to make her aware that he was there. He wanted to make sure she knew how much she meant to him, how many memories he kept in his heart of her.

So he leaned in closer, placing his mouth right next to her ear, and did simply that.

_Did I tell you I knew your name?_

_But it seems that I've lost it_

_Did I tell you it's my own game?_

_This is not your problem_

He sucked in a sharp, shaky breath, holding onto his composure as long as he could. He knew he would eventually break down; there was no denying it. He'd been crying constantly the past month. Today didn't make a difference. She still wasn't awake.

_I don't know if I'm gonna' change_

_Wasting time and another day_

The tears rolled down slowly, this time not leaving a burning path, just rolled down his face deliberately as he continued to sing to her, hopelessly hoping she would hear him. Hoping she would respond. Hoping she'd wake up from this goddamn coma and finally relieve him from all the worry and trepidation which had been overtaking his life the past month.

_Did I tell you it's not that bad?_

_Sitting over here dreaming_

He was dreaming. Dreaming of the day those blue eyes would open and be staring right back into his. Dreaming of the day when he'd get to kiss her and hold her body flush against his, and never let go. Like it always used to be.

_Did I tell you I'm right on track?_

_This time I mean it_

He was right on track with this. He knew it. He would ask Sam to be his again the moment she woke up. He swore he would. He considered her his now, even more so if she was awake. She'd be his, and this time, he wouldn't let go.

_I don't know if I'm gonna' change_

_Wasting time and another day…_

_I keep running away…_

_Even from the good things_

He was fully sobbing by now, could feel the familiar feel of the heavy lump in his throat, the burning on the surface of his eyes, the moistness absorbed in his cheeks, the pressure on his temples.

He whimpered and laid his head down on her shoulder, feeling completely lost. Unsure. Scared. _Helpless_. It wasn't a good feeling at all. In fact, it was overwhelming, and he could feel the rhythm of his heart faltering, threatening to make him faint any second. As he thought about the uncertainty of the future, of Sam's future, the rush of warmth traveled through his body, sending a painful but all-too-familiar jolt of an ache go streaking through his heart.

"I miss you so much, Sam," he whimpered, just barely being able to choke it out, squeezing her hand tightly and pressing it against his forehead.

He hoped and prayed to God over and over again that this wouldn't last more than a few weeks. Years would kill him. Years would hurt him in a way he only deemed unimaginable. It was an image he couldn't even picture in his head. He hoped every day. He hoped unremittingly. He hoped for so many things.

Because hope was really the only thing he had left.

**A/N: Alright. Hope you didn't drown in tears. Haha. Oh, and by the way, I made a Seddie video with the song in this chapter, "Running Away" by AM. The link is right here: youtube watch?v=Lj5Org7Ak7w. Just make sure you remove the spaces. If you have a YouTube account, let me know what you think of it in the comments! :) **

**Thanks for reading! Look out for an update! And please review!**


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